


Chasing After You

by VincentTheCat



Category: White Collar
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adoption, Alternate Universe, Angst, Burkes have lost Satchmo. Have you seen him?, Child Abuse, Crimes & Criminals, Family, Fluff, Forgery, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Kid Neal Caffrey, Neal Caffrey Needs a Hug, Slowburn Adoption, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 69,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentTheCat/pseuds/VincentTheCat
Summary: Neal aka George is a twelve-year-old street-smart kid working for Keller’s criminal crew. Peter’s an FBI agent who has been after Keller for four years now. With Peter’s new undercover assignment, both of their lives are about to go through a drastic change. But even before that happens… Someone beats the FBI up to the task.The agent’s dog, Satchmo, gets lost and infiltrates Neal’s life a whole month before Neal gets a chance to even hear of the surname ‘Burke’. Imagine Peter’s surprise when he and his wife finally meet their dog’s kidnapper.Illustrations inside!
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke & Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke & Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey & Satchmo, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 175
Kudos: 251





	1. The Missing One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I like the parent-child relationship of Peter, Elle and Neal. I also love cats and dogs so… From time to time their fluffy perspectives will be added in. The story's main focus is Peter, who is chasing after Keller's crew, and Neal, the poor soul just kind of caught in the middle of things.
> 
> I like to play with the points of view and so, for example, all of the perspectives of adults in the story are written in the past tense, while the perspective of Neal is written in the present tense.
> 
> You do not need to have watched the TV series to enjoy the story.
> 
> I have two beta readers.
> 
> _Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the USA Network original series White Collar. No copyright infringement is intended._
> 
> I updated the first chapter to add a cover art for the story, but just in case it may not be visible on all devices here's a link to DoodleAddicts:  
> [ https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41450/starry-night/](https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41450/starry-night/)
> 
> And now, onto the story:

_“In just the same way, it is not the will of your heavenly Father that one of these little ones be lost.”  
_ _Matthew 18:14 (NABRE)_

According to the weather forecast the day was going to be warm. Peter, since he had become an FBI agent, had mixed feelings towards summer. Obviously he enjoyed the weather, but at the same time he could not forget the statistics. In summertime the rate of committed crimes increased almost 10 percent _,_ especially during a warm day like that one. It was six in the morning and Peter was just coming back from walking Satchmo when his phone rang. He looked at the number. It was Jones. Work was calling him.

"Peter, you were right, he's got a new forger!" Those words made Peter think that day was going to be the lucky one. Finally they had a breakthrough in a series of interconnected cases the FBI had been working on for five years then.

Their person of interest was Matthew Keller. The man, whom the FBI and Interpol had linked to various misdeeds, from arms smuggling to stolen antiquities. Yesterday Peter noticed that over the last two years his skills in forgery had noticeably improved, also becoming a center of his activities. Two weeks before a new painting had surfaced. The higher quality of the work compared to the earlier pieces the man had been suspected of making raised questions. Peter figured that some top shelf forger had joined Keller's team. Confirmation of his theory by today's research team seemed a gift on Christmas morning. Peter smiled coldly. On one hand it was not good news at all, a better quality work meant a lower chance of detection, but on the other hand… It meant one more human capable of making mistakes. Besides, if the forger was really that good, then maybe Keller's temporary withdrawal from his more violent criminal activities would continue.

"I'm sorry but I can't join you for breakfast," his wife's words pulled Peter out of his current thoughts. Only then he realized he had already managed to free Satchmo and fill the dog's bowls with water and dry food. "Something came up with the opening at the gallery!" Elle added in a hurry.

"We'll make up for it on our date-night!" he called out remembering the promise he had made that weekend. _There will be no job, just us._ Elisabeth waved her hand at him in agreement and in the next moment they kissed and said _hon_ to each other _-_ their own word for _I love you._

Peter, again busy with his thoughts of the new forger, made his way up the stairs. After having changed into a suit he returned and grabbed his keys and lunch from the kitchen counter. That was when he noticed that in a hurry he must have forgotten to close the front door. I was gone for just a minute, he reassured himself.

"Satchmo, buddy, I'm going out too, behave yourself!" he shouted closing the door. A request for good behavior was needed because Satchmo, despite his distinguished age of five, still seemed to have a mind of a puppy. But that day it seemed the dog was having a quiet day, since he did not even bark so much in response to Peter's words. Satisfied with that, Peter started the car. After his vehicle had disappeared round the corner, the street outside the Burke's house went quiet again.

Not a soul in sight could notice a lonely Labrador, who after his unsuccessful run after his lady's car, came back to his home only to find the front door closed and the second car of the Burke family gone as well. Settling himself for a moment beside the gate the Lab made the most miserable sounding whine, but after having received no answer, it became clear to him he was truly alone. He was going to bring his family back home on his own. Satchmo was a brave dog and New York was his city. Failure was not an option.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Looking over the edge of the rooftop Neal takes a deep breath. He is standing on the top of the Metropolitan Museum. He likes coming here to watch the sunrise. Not to rob, not to do anything exciting or fun. But just to watch. It is something he learned to do a long time ago. The rooftop of their Saint Louis block was the only place that made him feel safe during his mum's parties. Trying to shrink away from the memory he blinks several times. No tears fall, which is good. Even when alone, he is not a big fan of crying. Glancing down Neal feels a shiver run through him. Down below he can see a famous sculpture – the golden Diana holding her bow tight, her eyes focused on the prey no one besides her can see. He wishes one could shoot an arrow through sorrow. Then, maybe she could protect him.

A sudden sound makes him wince. It is one of his burner phones. Someone is calling him from a blocked number. In a panic he realizes he forgot to mute his phone before climbing up here. He quickly hits the receiver button, praying that no guard has heard the incessant ringing. He backs away from the edge of the rooftop wanting to be less exposed while talking.

"Yes?" he hoarsely whispers into the receiver.

"What? Have I caught you in the middle of something?" Neal hears the snide remark and recognizes the voice of his current mentor. Mister Keller likes to show his superiority by harassing Neal every chance he gets. Neal cannot help but feel grateful that at least during the meetings with the other members of their group, the adult lets go of the relentless criticism. Sometimes even defending Neal from the mean comments of their other associates. He would say things like _I trust him, he's capable_ , and in those moments Neal would feel proud.

"No," he snaps. "I was―" for a moment he hesitates trying to figure out what kind of lie would make an adult like Mister Keller respect him. One thing is certain, he is not going to tell his mentor the truth. If Mister Keller knew that Neal sometimes liked to climb the rooftops and dream, it would just make the adult tease him more. "―I was leaving a villa just now. I needed some extra cash," he improvises. For a moment there Neal feels pleased with himself. Until his mentor speaks again.

"What villa?" Mister Keller snaps. He sounds angry. And that is when Neal realizes his mistake – he has overdone it by pointing out it was a villa. He should have said it was just a regular house.

"Not from your list of targets, I swear," he quickly replies trying to repair the damage he has just done. "You know my loyalty. I would never act this way on my own without your explicit order."

"What _villa_ , George?" Comes the quiet hiss from the speaker. At first Neal does not know how to answer. The addresses come rushing through his head but Neal cannot pick a random one. Knowing Mister Keller, the adult probably knows every name of every street in New York. That, and the surnames of its richest residents, of course. An old memory comes to him. It is from the time he first came to New York and was still struggling to find his way in the new city.

"434 McClellan Street," he confidently answers. From what he remembers none of Mister Keller's contacts live there and it is a safe distance away from the adult's territory. Neal hears his mentor relax. Mister Keller could get really paranoid, sometimes. Still, it is always nice to have someone familiar to talk to. Neal likes to talk quite a lot. Usually though his audience consists of street cats, not adults and… For the most part, he prefers it this way. It is way easier to entertain a cat than it is to entertain an adult. All cats want from him is tuna and as long as he provides them with it… They are good. Also, it is the fact that having only 'meow' to say, no cat has ever asked him a question he would not want to answer. Well, to be quite honest… No cat has ever asked him _any_ question. At least not in a _REAL_ way, as Mister Keller would undoubtedly say. This thought almost makes him believe that no cat has ever spoken to him. Which is a perfect example of how much harder it is to listen to an adult than it is to listen to a cat. To Neal's mind, it could really do his mentor good if he decided, from time to time, to limit his lectures to a single, simple word like 'meow'. Maybe then, talking to Mister Keller would be easier. If he were just a little more like a cat than an adult. But then again, no cat has ever provided Neal with his own workshop. So, maybe it is a good thing Mister Keller is an adult, not a cat. Still…

"Kid? Are you still there?" As Mister Keller's alarmed voice reaches him, embarrassed Neal realizes he must have fallen into yet another one of his daydreams. It is clear that the adult must have asked him something.

"Yes, sorry," Neal rushes with an answer. "A cop. I had to duck and for a moment got distracted. I'm with you now," he lies yet again.

"Well, tell me at least what you stole," he hears the amused voice of his mentor. But as he is about to start boasting about some rare antic Neal has to stop himself. There exists a limit to showing off during one phone call and he feels like he has already reached it.

"Just a couple of bucks. I told you. I needed money, not artworks," he replies instead. Money is a safe choice since Neal has plenty. If Mister Keller demanded a proof of this break-in Neal would have no trouble providing him with it. As seconds pass and there is still no answer, he begins to worry he might have sounded rude. Mister Keller's question was a friendly one, he should not have felt threatened by it. But of course he did, all because he was still angry that his mentor could think that he would ever rob a mansion he knew Mister Keller was targeting. "I'm not like Travis. I would never steal from you," he adds half in challenge and half in apology. After another one of those uncomfortably long pauses he hears the adult's brisk voice again.

"Good. I will need that loyalty by tomorrow. Be ready at noon, will you?" Neal frowns. _At noon?_ So it is going to be a meeting then, not a heist.

"I will," he simply replies and in the next moment he hears the end call chime. For a moment he stares at the phone blankly. So, it seems that tomorrow is going to be exciting. Lost in all the possibilities Neal looks up at the sky.

The clouds look very happy today. The pack of fluffy cat-dog hybrid creatures seem to be having a race above him. He wants to join them. Sadly he has no wings - at this time. Surly if he asks, Leonardo will help him make a pair. But that is for the future. Now… Climbing down the building Neal smiles. His sketchbook has been feeling slightly neglected lately. It deserves some attention and Neal knows exactly where to find the best of models - Central Park must be full of fluffy things with tails by now.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_His legs are fast, his nose is keen, his mind is set, but the world has grown too complicated for a dog even as well-equipped as Satchmo. He does not know how to find his masters in this never-ending maze of smells and sounds. They are lost. Taken wherever the metal four-legged contraptions decided to spew them out today. You just never know with those things - they are notoriously unreliable. The end destination impossible to predict. Unfortunately, his two-legs are seriously addicted to the joy of riding these bouncing contraptions. Behaving like puppies, they do not understand that the pack should stick together. Not off, playing in parts unknown._

_When he smells a deviled ham sandwich, he runs after its scent, but it turns out to be just a mislead. It is not his two-leg eating it. Then he smells the flowery not-water, the same one, that for some incomprehensible reason his lady uses to mask her scent, but it is not hers either. When Satchmo reaches the more crowded areas of the city the scents become all the more confusing. Weird beings, those two-legs. They are as big as bears and yet decide to live in as close a proximity to each other as ants! Always wandering off, leaving their packs behind! How preposterous!_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

This is a perfect spot, Neal tells himself stopping by a big oak tree. Its old, wide branches spread in a massive umbrella, its crown still allowing many inlets for the sky, the blue clearly visible amid the shades of green. Emerald and chartreuse, lime and viridian… Neal closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. He climbs up the tree, then settles himself on one of the highest branches. From this spot he has a wonderful view of the park while also staying well out of sight. He stands apart from the world. The ever watchful, unseen silent observer. Opening his sketchbook Neal looks around for inspiration. So. What should he draw first? Something on the edge of his vision catches his attention. It is an orange blur moving with surprising swiftness from tree to tree. Neal smiles. It's been a very long time since he drew a squirrel.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_His legs are fast, his nose is keen, his mind is set, but even such a strong-willed dog as Satchmo cannot ignore his hunger forever. If he were home he would just eat from the Bowl his masters filled for him every morning. But such as things stand…_

_Satchmo explores some trash littering the ground. Then his nose catches a far more appetizing smell. Meat aroma is wafting from the closest gathering of two-legs. When he comes closer he realizes why. There are mouth-watering sausages lying on a it-is-hot-silly-dog-do-not-touch-it thingamajig. How nice of the two-legs. Satchmo barks in gratitude._

"Whose dog is it?" _One of the two-legs invites him to join the feast. Graciously Satchmo accepts the invitation. With his fore-legs he leans on the stand and digs in with gusto._

"Hey!" _Clearly worried that he might burn his nose the concerned two-leg tries to catch him by his collar. But Satchmo does not have time to play. His stomach is full. He has to move on and continue his search._

_He-who-invites-to-fatty-feasts lands on his butt which makes Satchmo pause. He cocks his head at the two-leg. He would really love to accept the invitation to play but he simply has no time for it. He is on a mission. Come to the Burke-den later, he barks, we'll play and feast some more._

_Suddenly there are more hands that try to grab his collar, but yet again he is quicker. Rapidly barking out heartfelt apologies and invitations to the Burke-den to all and sundry, Satch makes his escape. Maybe it is not just his two-legs, but the two-legs in general that always want to play._

"CATCH THAT THIEF!" _He-who-invites-to-fatty-feasts hollers in disappointment. Running off Satch barks yet again. Later, my two-leg friend, ok? Later!_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

"CATCH THAT THIEF!"

Neal is just in the middle of his second sketch this morning, when the sudden shout makes all his senses stand on alert. Before he even knows what is happening the familiar feeling of adrenaline flooding his system makes his heart beat faster.

"Catch me if you can," Neal automatically retorts. In an instant he is back on the ground and ready to run. He narrows his eyes and looks in the direction the irate shouting is coming from.

He sees a fat man in a food worker apron frantically talking to a PEP officer, his hands angrily gesturing in Neal's direction. He frowns not recognizing the livid man. After a second both adults take off again, running in his direction and Neal realizes it is not a time for asking questions. Turning on his heel Neal runs off heading for the exit.

"STOP!" Hearing the yells behind him Neal feels a bit surreal. It is not every day that he gets chased for something he has no recollection of doing. Is it possible that the adult has seen him earlier this morning picking somebody's pockets? Well, maybe. On the other hand Neal is a master at picking pockets. Was it the graffiti then? Neal knows he could get a bit absent-minded while painting.

"KID! YOU AND YOUR DOG, STOP AT ONCE OR YOU WILL GET INTO EVEN MORE TROUBLE!" Surprised Neal slows down enough to look over his shoulder. _What is that adult blubbering about? Neal has no dog._ Is it a trick? Or was all that shouting not directed at him after all? Suddenly Neal realizes who besides the two adults is participating in the chase. A yellow lab, its tongue lolling out of its smiling mouth, barks at him playfully. The dog passes him only to circle back and come running in his direction again. So it is not him they are after, after all?

Neal halts. Good grief, a PEP officer chasing after a _dog_. Calling it a _thief_. Don't adults have anything better to do with their time?

Seeing him stop, the dog follows his example and grounds to a halt as well. It goes down on its elbows, its tail raised and wagging. The dog barks again.

"Dear Vincent! Where did you come from?" Kneeling next to the dog, Neal chuckles and pats its head affectionately. Looking over his shoulder he can see the dog's pursuers are getting dangerously close. "Shouldn't you still be running?" The dog regards him curiously, its eyes are guileless.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_His legs are fast, his nose is keen, his mind is set, but the two-leg pup's speed impresses him so much that he just has to chase after him. He has never met a two-leg this fast, but then…_

_Why did you stop! Satchmo barks in reproach. Then he comes closer to the two-leg. Come on, you're doing great. Let's keep on running, he urges. Instead of taking his advice, the pup kneels next to him._

"Dear Vincent! Where did you come from?" _The two-leg pup exclaims and Satch looks at him astonished._

_There is some instinct in every dog that no dog knows how to explain, but every dog knows it exists. And there is no greater judge of character than Satchmo. He has always known that his pack was incomplete. The Burke den was missing someone._

_Why do you two-legs like to wander so much? Don't you know the pack should always stick together?! He barks with consternation. The-missing-one chuckles and pats Satchmo on the head. It's no barking matter, Satchmo continues with his lecture. Why are you laughing?_

"Shouldn't you still be running?" _the two-leg apologizes. Satchmo is not the one to hold grudges._

_Well, at least I have found you now. He licks the pup's paw in acceptance. Don't worry little one. Now we just have to find where the other two have wandered off to and then we'll be good to go back to the Burke-den._


	2. Rookie’s Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments! You have no idea how much it means to me to know that you like my writing and look forward to the updates. :) As a thank you I drew a little something for the second chapter. The illustration should appear at the beginning of the chapter, but just in case here’s a link to DoodleAddicts:  
> [ https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41488/a-boy-and-his-dog/](https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41488/a-boy-and-his-dog/)
> 
> And now onto our duo’s whereabouts:

__

  
_"Fear not, for I am with you;  
from the east I will bring back your offspring,  
from the west I will gather you."  
Isaiah 43:5 (NABRE)_

Looking around, Neal cannot spot anyone who could be the dog’s owner. Now, that the chase is over, the only ones still paying attention to the Lab are the two pursuers. Seeing that Neal has stopped running away, the two men slowdown. Now instead of running, they are walking in Neal’s direction. Although it makes them look less intimidating, it still does not change the fact that both men look quite angry. A bit too angry for Neal’s comfort.

“What such a friendly ball of fluff like yourself could have done to those gentlemen?” looking down at the Lab in amusement, Neal asks. The dog keeps wagging his tail. “You haven’t bitten anyone, have you?” Chuckling, Neal bends again to pat the dog. What a delightful fellow. When the dog barks, Neal chuckles yet again. “You smell a cat, huh?” burrowing his face in the dog’s fur, Neal guesses and laughs as the similar sounding bark comes in response.

“So this is _your_ dog?” Continuing to pet the dog, Neal gets so focused on his newly found playmate that the question comes as a complete surprise to him. Pulling away from the dog, he sees that during the time the dog’s charm has completely taken him over, the two chasers have managed to cut their distance to two feet. The PEP officer, who has asked the question, is now looking at him expectantly. He looks annoyed and is still flushed from running. The second man’s face is crimson. Almost the shade of red that Neal worked so hard to mix yesterday. He needed that red to paint the king’s robes on the forgery he has been currently working on for Mister Keller.

“What are you, deaf?!” as Neal’s silence continues, the second man shouts.

Neal frowns. The plan, if there ever was one, was to tell the two the truth – to explain that he has just met this dog and to be on his way. It would be the reasonable thing to do. So why hesitate? Why… Come to think of it, he has never conned a PEP officer. He may have a real opportunity here.

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry, I, I don’t know what h-happened or how,” deliberately stuttering, Neal waits for one of the men to interrupt him. It does not take long.

“Oh great!” The second man shouts. “THIS CRAZY ANIMAL SHOULD WEAR A MUZZLE! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING LETTING IT WANDER OFF THE LEASH TO STEAL FOOD AND RUIN MY BUSINESS!”

As the man leans over him, Neal takes a step back. He scrunches his face in disgust as the man’s spittle lands on his face. Remembering he is doing this for the dog’s sake, Neal scans the irate adult.

He looks around middle fifties, his checkered t-shirt is stained with a mix of mustard and ketchup. Glancing down at the Lab for a moment, Neal cannot quite hide his smile. It is a rookie’s mistake to get spotted while robbing a food-stand. Looking up at the adult, who is still shouting at him, Neal cocks his head. He notices another small detail that till now has escaped his attention. The man’s right hand has a nasty looking burn. This is going to be his inspiration, Neal decides. A quick look at the blank-faced PEP officer tells him that he will probably eat it up too.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say,” Neal’s renewed stuttering puts an end to the adult’s rant. “I… I’ve been made responsible for this hero here. It’s such an honor. I’m sorry, I got distracted. One moment he was there, the next - puff! I was looking for him when I heard the shouts. Dear Vincent, I’m so glad you’ve found him! Thank you so, so much!” Hugging the dog and glancing up at the two men, Neal intends to look both stressed and grateful. “My little rescue…” Hugging the dog, Neal burrows his face in his soft fur. “But now none of the firemen will ever allow me to walk you, will they?” looking up at the two adults observing him with the seemingly unseeing eyes, Neal pauses, his expression is lost. “But it’s my own fault,” appearing resigned, he finishes sadly.

The silence after his last words gets interrupted by the PEP officer clearing his throat. “The fines for letting the dog run loose are high and here the situation is even more serious - the dog has breached private property.” The officer says, although he looks slightly bemused. Then, suddenly Neal’s words seem to finally catch up to him. “Wait a moment, you mean he’s a rescue dog?”

“Well, actually - no” Neal hangs his head down, his sorrowful eyes focused on the Lab. He wants both adults to believe his attention is focused only on the dog. Out of his pocket does he bring out a string and starts to tie a bowline knot on the dog’s collar. He makes a deliberate show out of it so that the officer could clearly see what he is doing and recognize one of the rescue knots. “Not anymore, anyway. During one action he got caught in a fire, and…” Neal sighs. “Well, he changed.” He pauses, letting his audience draw their own conclusions. “I still think it shouldn’t change the fact that in the past he was a hero, you know?” he adds, meeting the eyes of the two men again. “At least I promised myself I would never forget it,” he says quietly and deciding the con is finished, falls into a deep silence. Now the adults need time to think the things through.

“Well…” It is the PEP officer who finally speaks. He looks at the other adult. “It’s really up to you sir, whether you want to press charges or not,” he says and then kneeling next to Neal, he pats the Lab’s head. “That’s a good knot you’ve made, kid. You a scout?” he asks Neal with a smile.

“My old man says to always be prepared. He taught me that,” thinking of Mister Keller, Neal explains.

“That’s a good lesson,” the PEP officer nods with approval, but before he can ask more questions about the dog’s origins or Neal’s scout connections, the other adult finally manages to make up his mind.

“Well, to be honest… Those were just two or three sausages,” the adult shrugs awkwardly, scratching his beard. Noticing Neal’s paint stained hands, he asks. “You work?”

“Ah, yeah, that,” feeling a bit confused, Neal explains.

“Ah, yes, helping with repairs,” the man assumes, then turns to the other adult. “I really can’t say I have seen anything happen, officer,” he tells him.

“Me too. I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” the PEP officer chuckles.

“Okay, then I guess I should go back to my stand now,” the food worker says.

Neal looks with gratitude at the two adults. As the con draws to a close, Neal cannot believe how much fun he is having. “Thank you so much! At least I can pay you back for what my buddy has eaten here,” he says shyly. Then, deciding that if given a choice he would rather keep his money, he adds “I mean, I guess right now I kind of cannot, but maybe I will come back and―”

“No, no. That was on me. Hero needs to eat, right?” Bending to pat the dog’s head, the adult smiles and then chuckles as the dog licks his hand. “It was a pleasure,” he says turning to Neal. He claps his shoulder. “Hard work is good, you know? Keep it up boy and you will grow up to be a man.” Neal smiles, forcing himself not to flinch away from the unexpected touch.

“I know and I will!” he enthusiastically promises. “And thank you, sir!” The adult nods in acknowledgement, apologizes for troubling the PEP officer and then he is on his way. But before Neal can feel relieved that the adult’s gone- someone beside him speaks. As it turns out, the PEP officer has not finished with him yet.

“You know, the procedures aren’t really as simple as I’ve told you before. Just because that man did not press charges it does not mean I did not see this dog running off leash in the park. And this is most definitely not a leash-free area. The fine for such an offense is 260$.”

“I understand”, Neal nods biting on his lip.

“But of course I don’t like the idea of giving _criminal record_ to such a great dog as this one,” reaching out to pat the dog, the adult unexpectedly grins. “Just like I don’t like the idea of giving your folks trouble,” the nice officer adds. “And I get you don’t want to lose the privilege of walking with him.” The adult pauses, his eyes locked on Neal’s. As if expecting some kind of verbal answer from him.

“I’m sorry,” Neal says, deciding that apologizing again is the safest option.

The adult smiles. “Okay, smart kid, just make sure this will never happen again,” he says, ruffling Neal’s hair and once again it is hard not to flinch away. But Neal stands his ground and the PEP officer does not notice. He turns to leave only to pause the next moment to look over his shoulder.

“Oh, one more thing,” he says. “Remind me again, what’s the hero’s name?”

“Satchmo!” Neal answers. That is what the tag on the dog’s collar claims, at least.

“Okay, I hope not to talk to you ever again!” the officer nods and then, finally turns away from him. Watching the adult leave, Neal lets out a sigh of relief.

“Free at last,” Neal tells his companion, dropping on the ground next to him. The dog barks happily in agreement and tries to lick his face. Chuckling, Neal tries to protect himself from the next attack. “That was fun though,” he says, peeking from between his fingers at the dog. There is a lot to feel good about today, Neal decides. He has actually managed to save this dog from trouble. Enjoying the feeling of victory, he burrows his face in the dog’s fur. He closes his eyes for a moment. Satchmo is such a fluffy dog.

“Dear Vincent, you’re so fluffy,” he voices aloud his thoughts. Then, Neal chuckles. “And also - you’re such a rookie!” he exclaims. “Getting noticed while robbing _a food-stand_? Really?! That deserves a―” Neal pauses, feeling bad about what he has wanted to say initially. Pulling away a bit from the Lab, he meets his caramel eyes again. “A proper meal,” he tells his companion. The dog tries to reach and kiss his face again. “Okay, okay, stop! I’m not food!” Neal tries to calm the dog. Come to think of it, he is hungry as well. Maybe not as hungry as Satchmo, but still hungry enough. Getting up from the grass, Neal grins down at the dog. He is going to show the rookie how it is done.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

An hour later Neal finds himself leading his new companion to one of his favorite oak trees in the park. After they both settle in the shade protecting them from sunlight, Neal fishes two sandwiches out from his bag.

“And this _Satchmo_ \- is how it’s _really_ done.” Handing the dog one of the sandwiches, Neal grins. “Smile, distract and then grab. That’s how you become the master,” Neal sighs watching the dog as it happily starts to munch on the sandwich. He takes a bite from his own _prosciutto e rucola_. It feels good to be a little bit hungry. It also feels good to have something delicious to fill your stomach with. Closing his eyes Neal enjoys the feeling of the warm sunlight on his face. He rests his back against the tree trunk.

Dear Vincent, he feels bad for this dog. Life is going to be so harsh for him on the streets of New York. Opening one eye to glance at Satchmo, Neal grimaces. “You know, it would be much better for you if you could change into a cat, like right now,” he tells him glumly. The dog, who has just finished his sandwich sticks out his tongue in response. He looks like he is smiling. “Hey! Don’t you laugh at me!” Neal exclaims in indignation and the Lab, apparently thinking it is some sort of game, jumps on him. “And don’t you―”

Falling onto the ground, Neal laughs. Then, he watches in amusement as the dog rests his snout on his chest, his puppy eyes clearly begging Neal for a bite from his own sandwich. Neal takes pity on him and breaks it in two.

“You make more of a mess than a cat does,” Neal smiles watching the dog eat. “They eat tuna. Do you like tuna? It’s a fish and it stinks. I mean, it did not at first but now, that I have to smell it like almost every day, it really does… Smell. Bad. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know there are worse things to eat. I have eaten worse things in my life. I know tuna can become someone’s ambrosia, when hungry enough. But let’s say if I had to choose between a can of tuna and a can of Do I talk too much?” The dog, who has by now finished, just licks his lips. Neal rests his hand on top of the dog’s head. “Yes, of course I do. But you don’t mind, do you?” He chuckles. “Hm. Satchmo. Satch. Satch-mo. What a weird name. Has a nice ring to it though. I wonder who they named you after… Or was it just let’s-be-silly-this-once kind of thing.”

Neal can just laugh as the dog, instead of answering the questions, starts to make his puppy eyes again, clearly focused on the task of getting the remaining half of Neal’s sandwich. “Nope, nope, that’s mine!” he tells him with a chuckle. “And I have to eat when I am hungry because―”

“Oh, fine. We’ll share and I will get us fresh ones. Hm. Do you like pizza? I think I am in a mood for pizza.” He gets up with a sigh, then thinking more about it, grimaces. No. Pizza is not a good idea. He has a dog now and… “Oh, fine, you know what? How about I show you how the master _really_ gets it done?” he asks the dog and when he barks, Neal fishes a buck out of his pocket. He waves it in front of the dog’s snout. “See, the real masters do not rob food stands, rookie. We don’t steal for food, we steal for money. And we have plenty.” They start walking and Neal chuckles. He raises his eyebrow at the dog. “Of course, Satchmo, when you are a dog, money will do you no good. You’ll have to learn to do things the dog way. See? That’s why I’ve told you it would be better if you were a cat. For starters cats have smaller stomachs to fill.”

Looking up at the azure sky, Neal again can just sigh. “You’re a good company, Satch. I’m sure you’ll make it,” he tells the dog with confidence that he is far from feeling. On the street it really is better to be a cat than a dog. Just like it is better to be an adult than a child. Or a part of a criminal group than an outsider. These are the rules here and Satchmo has a lot to learn if he wants to make it.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_Since he met the-missing-one, Satchmo’s original quest for his two other two-legs has had to be put on hold. The pup has turned out to be just too entertaining for it to be any other way._

_By now Satchmo’s stomach is full with yummy things that his masters, for some unfathomable reason, have never introduced him to. As the boy stops talking, Satch whines. He wants to hear more of that voice. Wrapping his hands around him, the two-leg laughs. He burrows his face in Satch’s fur and Satchmo starts to lick his hands. He barks yet again and then jumps on the-missing-one, pinning him to the ground. The pup makes a surprised sound and Satch lets him go._

_Let’s play! Let’s play! Jumping around the two-leg, he starts to bark. The pup tries to catch him but he fails. Satch runs away for a moment, then lies down again. Wagging his tail, he observes the-missing-one who looks back at him in surprise. When the two-leg remains motionless, Satch runs towards him again, jumps, then runs away. The pup laughs and this time when he tries to catch him, Satchmo lets him. As the two-leg pets his head, Satch, standing still, closes his eyes for a moment and then licks his two-leg’s hand affectionately. He meets the blue eyes of the pup again and barks. This time, when he runs away he is delighted to see the-missing-one following him with no hesitation. Laughing, his two-leg chases after him and Satch, running away, continues to bark. Today cannot possibly be more perfect._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Stopping for a moment, Neal finds it hard to catch his breath. _Satchmo_ immediately notices and Neal watches the Lab come running back towards him. He stops in front of him to catch Neal’s hand in his mouth, then with another one of those happy barks he pulls away and lies in the grass. The tongue sticking out of his mouth making him look just as silly as a dog can look. Still feeling a bit breathless, Neal steps towards him. In response the dog happily barks again and runs away a couple of feet only to stop and look at him expectantly. As if to make sure he is still playing. “Ha! It’s on!” Neal tells his companion preparing himself for yet another mad dash. The dog barks back at him.

Minutes later they are still running and for a moment there Neal even manages to take the lead. But then the dog outpaces him again and Neal can just envy those four legs of his. With just two he is hardly a match for the Lab.

Neal stops again and this time the dog comes back at him at full speed. He knocks Neal over and starts to lick his face. Chuckling, Neal makes the dog roll over and then they are at it again. Roughhousing in the grass, Neal does not remember when was the last time he felt so carefree.

Dear Vincent, saying goodbye to this one is going to be hard. Still… It must be early afternoon, so he guesses they still have plenty of time to play.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“I’m SO thirsty,” _the little two-leg sitting next to him remarks and Satch, despite not understanding a thing, barks in response. Then he returns to lapping the water from the channel. He is SO thirsty. But even more he is SO happy._

_Stopping for a moment his drinking, Satch rests his head on his companion’s lap. Looking up at him, he wags his tail. He loves this little two-leg. He wants nothing more than to be with him and listen to this wonderful laugh of his._

_His pup, after putting aside the bottle, from which he has been drinking, wraps his arms around Satchmo and rests his chin on the top of his head. “You’re a delightful companion, you know that?” his two-leg asks him and Satchmo, despite not understanding the words barks in agreement. He licks the pup’s hand again and tries to lick his face but the-missing-one does not let him. Laughing, the pup wraps his arms more tightly around Satchmo._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Told you I don’t like that,” Neal scolds the dog and then with a sigh, burrows his face in the dog’s soft fur. He feels warm. Satchmo is such a warm dog. _Satchmo._ He kisses the top of the dog’s head. “On the street you shouldn’t go by _Satchmo_ anymore. It’s not safe, you know?”

As the dog tries to lick his face again, Neal chuckles yet once more. He falls on his back in the soft grass and the dog follows him. Satchmo curls by his side, resting his big fluffy head on Neal’s chest and looking at him expectantly as if to ask what his new name should be.

“Can’t you think of something yourself?” he asks. But the dog is adamant that he should be the one to choose his new name. “Well, fine then… If you insist.” Neal sighs, then grins. “Just remember, you’re the one who wanted it!”

The dog woofs his thanks.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

It is almost 2PM and they have been thinking about the new name for at least an hour now and yet still neither of them have been able to think of anything better than _Satchmo_. Neal wants the name to be perfect. It is the least he could do for the stray.

“You may think it does not matter,” Neal tells the dog. “But you would be wrong. The first fake name is the most important one because it’s the one you will remember. All future ones will just blur together.”

_How so?_ The dog, not looking away from the pizza he is currently devouring, asks and Neal shakes his head.

“Because they will,” he tells the dog seriously. “After Neal came Danny, and after Danny… Nick, George, someone starting with a J, I don’t know. To be honest with you I remember only the ones for which I still have IDs. But Danny… Danny does not have an ID anymore. But Danny started it all. And Danny was an awful alias. That’s why we have to take our time to think now. You don’t want to end up named after your mummy’s boyfriend after all. If it was just a name, but that surname ― Satch, it’s really a very good thing dogs don’t need surnames,” Neal sighs. He himself has long forgotten what his original surname was. Mum would know. But mum was not around anymore.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Opening the door, Elizabeth prepared herself for the crazy ball of happiness to come running at high-speed towards her, jump on her and try to sweep her off her feet. Satchmo’s own way of saying _I’ve missed you_.

So, understandably, she was surprised when nothing of the sort had happened. The dog was nowhere in sight. “Satchmo! I’m home!” she called towards the rest of the house. Everything was quiet. “Satch!” Losing her heels, Elizabeth decided to check the usual places first. Her husband, when it came to every-day things could get very forgetful and so it happened quite often for Satch to get imprisoned in weird places.

“Satch!” Elizabeth opened the backdoor. “You here buddy? We’re going for a walk,” she called, but the outside was just as quiet as the inside. Furrowing her brows, Elle closed the door, then, still calling after the dog, she ran upstairs. Was it possible Peter got home early and decided to take Satchmo for an afternoon walk? But if so, why did he not tell her? He should have told her. Communication. They lacked in it sometimes. If she had known he was planning to come back, she would have made different plans. Or he could have just waited for her and they could have gone for a walk together.

After checking every room of their house, Elizabeth Burke was frustrated. So indeed Peter must have come back home earlier and taken Satchmo for a walk. Putting the water for the coffee, Elle sighed. It was better to check with him anyway. Even if he himself had not bothered to do so with her. After dialing the number, Elizabeth had to wait only a few seconds for Peter to answer.

“Hi hon,” he cheerfully said unaware of the upcoming lecture. “What’s up?”

“Hey hon,” she answered trying to keep her voice calm. “You have not told me you’ll be walking Satchmo today. When will you boys be back? Oh, and do you have time to stay for lunch? I’ve just come back, I have about an hour before I have to head back to the office but if you want―” Suddenly she paused. Was it Jones she was hearing in the background? “Peter, you’re still at the office?!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry but just as I have told you this morning I don’t think I have―” Peter paused. “You’ve thought I was with Satchmo?”

“Oh God,” putting away the phone, Elle mumbled under her breath. “SATCHMO?!” exiting the kitchen she called their dear dog yet again and frantically started to look around the house. She ran upstairs, checked every room and then ran back downstairs.

Grabbing the phone from the kitchen counter, ignoring Peter’s confused questions about what was going on, she frantically ran to the backyard. “Satchmo!? Satch― Peter, I can’t find Satchmo anywhere!” she finally said. Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest.

“What? Are you sure?”

“Am I sure ― Yes, I am. I’m calling after him and he is not answering, how―”

“But have you checked the backyard―” she got interrupted.

“Yes, Peter! I’ve checked everywhere! Hon, how could this happen!”

“…the door,” despite her panic she heard softly spoken words on the other side. She stood still.

“The door?! What do you mean Peter?!” she demanded.

“I may know what happened,” her husband admitted in a small voice.

“What,” she demanded yet again. This time more softly.

“I forgot to close the door in the morning. But it was just for a moment, there is no way Satchmo could have―”

“God, Peter!” resisting the urge to hang up, Elizabeth exclaimed. “Of course you did!”

“We’re going to fix this Elle, find him, he’s got an electronic chip, a collar with our address and number on it, we can put up posters and call animal service…” Tuning out for a moment her husband’s reassurances, Elizabeth Burke took in a long, calming breath. She could not believe this was actually happening. God, her poor puppy! How was he doing? Was he doing all right? She hoped he was doing all right and that they would find him soon.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_Following his little two-leg, Satchmo feels as if he is in heaven. This day is perfect. He has eaten, he has had fun, he has taken a nap, he has eaten again, the pup has not stopped talking to him even for a moment and now it looks like they are going to play again. They have to. That’s what Satch wants after all._

_Satchmo grabs the pup’s sleeve in his teeth and shakes his head. Then, he lets go off the cloth and runs a couple of feet away from his two-leg. Wagging his tail, he barks happily._

_He-who-runs-fast, catch me if you can!_

_Weirdly enough, the pup does not chuckle or try to run after him. Instead the-missing-one stops. His eyes are gloomy. Satch runs towards him again and licks his hand. He still does not react._

_The dog cocks his head at his little two-leg. What’s wrong?_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Looking back into the caramel eyes of the still nameless dog, Neal feels guilty. It is not like he did not know this moment would come. No, in fact ever since meeting the dog Neal has tried to prepare himself for exactly this moment. Clearly, with little to no effect.

“I’m sorry.” Neal kneels next to the dog. “I’m afraid this is a goodbye my dear friend.” The dog just continues to happily lick Neal’s hand. Neal takes Satchmo’s head between his two hands. “Do you understand?” he asks the dog and the stray tries to reach for his face now. “We cannot be together anymore. We were never meant to be in the first place.”

The dog jumps on him and Neal, suddenly unable not to chuckle, falls on his back. “Crazy doggo!” Hugging the dog, he tries to hide his amusement and remain serious but Satchmo does not let him. Protecting himself from the dog’s attacks, Neal snorts and then has no choice but to burst into a full laughter.

“Crazy, crazy, crazy,” finally managing to get a hold of Satchmo, he tells him and the dog licks his face in response. Snuggling his face into the dog’s soft fur, Neal sighs. He feels tears in his eyes. “This must be a goodbye _Satchmo The Nameless_ ,” he tells his companion softly. “You see, that’s the way grown-up world works. I have told you this before. I have explained to you quite a lot today, haven’t I? As long as you remember not to get into fights and find your own pack of dogs you should be all right,” he reassures his friend.

Dear Vincent, a pack of dogs?! Who is he kidding? If anywhere, this Lab is going to end up in a shelter. Every dog gets caught eventually. It is one of the reasons why cats have it better.

“You’re sure you can’t change into a cat?” Neal asks, pulling away a bit from the dog to meet his eyes again. When the dog tries to reach his face again, Neal chuckles. “Yeah, right. Here goes my answer.” Taking a deep breath, Neal stands up. “Let’s not be too touchy-feely about it, okay? We’ve both got things to do. You have to continue to survive and I - well, I have to get some sleep before the meeting. Adults to impress,” kissing the dog on the top of his head, Neal smiles. “Paintings to steal. You get the picture,” Neal chuckles. After waving his hand in goodbye, he turns to his right, where the ladder leading up to the rooftop is. He jumps catching the nearest rung. As he starts to climb he hears the dog’s confused whining. It breaks his heart but he does not look back.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_As his two-leg disappears over the edge of the rooftop, Satchmo can just fidget in place. Stopping his whining, he starts to bark. He feels lost. The-missing-one has to be there, somewhere. But Satchmo cannot see him. He can still smell the pup but he has hidden himself from him. He does not like this game. Satchmo barks yet again._

_He-who-runs-fast!_

_He-who-gives-best-hugs!_

_He-who-plays-best!_

_Calling after his two-leg, Satchmo feels confused. Leaving the alley, he sniffs the air. His two-leg has to be somewhere nearby. When is he coming back?_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Running away from the miserable whines of the dog, Neal feels tears in his eyes. He could not have risked bringing him to Mister Keller’s workshop. As to Neal’s own safe-places, they are all located too high for a dog to climb. So Satch really has been just a problem, not a companion. That’s why cats are way better than dogs. They are small, independent and can climb roofs. Also, adults barely ever notice them. Neal, just like any other stray, cannot afford to be noticed. If he were, he would not be taken to a shelter. Instead, he would be taken to a far worse place - a group house or a foster home. He feels a cold shiver run through him at the thought. No. However nice playing with that dog has been, risking getting in the system has just not been worth it. And even if he somehow managed to pull it off, keep both him and Satchmo The Nameless off the grid, the social workers would not be the only ones after them.

Mister Keller, Neal knows, as a rule does not appreciate any animal’s presence. To him they are pests. No. It is better for Neal and Satchmo to split apart. Better for both of them.

When he can no longer hear the dog, Neal slows down his steps. Relieved, he runs a hand over his face to get rid of the last of the tears. Stupid dog. Stupid Neal. He knows what mess he was getting into when he saved the dog and yet he got into it anyway. Sometimes, Neal really doubts he has any judgment to speak of.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_This is the worst time of his life. Walking alone through the streets of New York, Satchmo feels despair. First he has met the most amazing companion to play with and then, the next things he knows, he is alone again. His two-leg has run away and Satchmo has had no way to follow him._

_He still has no idea where she-who-smells-of-home and he-who-smells-of-home are. Quietly whining to himself, he burrows his snout in some garbage. He whines with disappointment. Just like all the other times he has done it, Satchmo can smell food, but for some reason, however long he searches for it, he finds none. Well, maybe, for just one lick, he does._

_Something caws next to him. It is a crow. Then comes another one. If Satchmo were his normal-happy self, he would have chased after it. Such as things are, he just indifferently walks past it._

_He-who-runs-fast! Satchmo yet again cries after the-missing-one. Silence answers him. With his snout to the ground, trying to catch the smell of either one of his two-legs, Satchmo continues on his lonely road._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Taking a step back from the easel to take a better look at the painting, Neal nods his head in approval. Good. So far he has been doing very good. He glances at the clock. It is near 5AM. That means seven hours till the scheduled meeting. He should really get some sleep now. It is about time. He has not planned to do an all-nighter. This forgery is not due till next week, so there really is no rush to try to finish it now. There is no point working on it till he falls on his face from exhaustion. When so tired he would only end up making stupid mistakes he would have to spend the next two days correcting. Forgeries for Keller, who is an artist himself, have to be perfect. Or else the adult would notice Neal has been slacking off. No. He really should get some sleep now.

Putting aside the brush and the palette, Neal stretches. He knows he is tired, but also, weirdly, he is feeling restless. He goes to the fridge and opens it, but aside from Mister Keller’s whiskey it is empty. Oh, yeah. Neal has forgotten he hardly ever sleeps at the workshop. Maybe that’s the reason for his restlessness?

Deciding that yes, it must be, Neal glances at the clock yet again. Well, there is still time to get to one of his favorite rooftop spots, he guesses. Only, is it wise with so little time till the meeting?

He hears a meow coming from outside. He moves towards the window and recognizes the cat as Vincent. He can also see Claude and some other shy stray, he does not know, lurking on the edge of the balcony. “I will be back with you in a minute,” going to the fridge Neal tells the cats, then frowns. Oh, that’s right. He has forgotten. No tuna, just whiskey. “I guess you don’t drink?” he asks the cats and when the shy stray behind Claude meows in response, Neal sighs. “Well, bad luck for you,” he tells them.

The cats say nothing, just look back at him expectantly. “I’ve said bad luck, shoo!” Neal says, but only the newest stray backs away. Opening the door and coming onto the balcony, Neal sighs yet again. He closes the door behind him, then sits on the cold flooring. He cocks his head at Vincent.

“Well? What’s up?” Neal asks and Vincent comes to him purring. He settles himself on his lap. Neal starts petting the cat. He closes his eyes. “I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep tonight either,” he tells his best friend.

Claude meows. _But we can sleep, we’re just night creatures, Neal._ He translates the words.

“Well I am a night creature too!” he lively disagrees with the cat, which makes the newest stray back away even more. The cat hisses showing his white teeth, Neal hisses back.

Usually by this point he would try to name the cat. Somehow, today he cannot bring himself to do this. The memory of another, he has failed to give a second name to, prevents him from thinking of anything, but the cries of a helpless dog he has left behind. “Dear Vincent,” running a hand over his face, Neal sighs. “You won’t believe what stray I run into today… Well, yesterday I guess. Dogs are so silly. I understand why mum used to always object to getting one! Though on the other hand she was not especially fond of cats either… Which doesn’t matter. Either way, I like you guys so much better than dogs. Who needs dogs… Why am I thinking about that dog… You know what Mister Keller has told me recently? He’s told me, that if I died, you all would not blink twice before eating me. And that it is true for all animals. Cats, dogs, rats, raccoons, pigeons… But he does not know you!” Aggravated, he picks up Vincent and locks his eyes with the loudly purring cat. “We’re friends and friends don’t eat each other, right?”

Vincent meows, but clearly, for the newest stray, Neal’s talking combined with no food is enough to decide it’s his time to leave. Neal watches the creature nimbly jump onto the lower balcony and swiftly disappear from sight. He sighs, then looks back at Vincent and Claude. “You’ve probably told him here’s where the greatest minds of all time gather. That here is a place where all the artists from around the world can debate with one another. That’s what he’s expected coming here. And what has he found instead? A little boy with an empty fridge and a dog problem. Talking nonsense.”

Despite the self-criticism Neal somehow cannot make himself start his usual debate with the cats. They do not even have anything to eat, what kind of a meeting is this? He snuggles Vincent close to his chest. “Still, nice of you two to visit me,” he mumbles to him. His cat meows and Neal, looking up at the sky smiles. It is already sunrise. Undoubtedly a beautiful one, especially if it were to be watched from a rooftop. Maybe that’s where he should go now since he does not feel like getting any sleep?

_Or maybe you should do something useful and give us something to eat?_ Claude, sitting a foot away from them, asks. The biscuit cat, unlike Vincent, is very shy. Neal can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times the distrustful cat has agreed to be petted. He named it Claude, since it reminded him of the little glazed terracotta feline that belonged to Claude Monet himself. Claude, when Neal first spotted it on his balcony about five months ago, looked exactly like that little sculpture - thin, with biscuit fur and lazily sleeping. Unlike the figurine, it also run away the moment Neal tried to get close.

“You won’t even let me pet you and you want something to eat?” Neal asks the cat reproachfully. “Vincent, I understand. We’re old pals. But you? Just look at you.”

_Look at yourself_. Not in a mood for jokes the cat shows his white fangs. _Worrying over some dog._

“You’re not even the original Claude,” Neal teases him. He has no idea where the original went. Or maybe died. He tries not to think too much about where those cats disappear. It’s better this way.

Claude does not answer him. He has hurt his feelings and Neal knows it. Vincent pats Neal’s mouth with his paw, clearly trying to make him start petting him again. Neal does, but at the same time decides to use Vincent’s gesture in his pretend game.

_You’d better say nothing more, dear child_. The wise cat friend tells him, a paw on Neal’s mouth is a shushing gesture. _Conscience should be the man’s compass._

“But you haven’t even given me a chance to apologize,” Neal protests.

_Apologize with a tuna can!_ Claude meows and Neal sighs. He puts Vincent down.

“Fine,” standing up, he tells his impudent guests. “I will get your tuna.”


	3. Of New Discoveries and Tuna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! I can’t even begin to explain how much your feedback means to me. Seeing that you are enjoying the story just warms my heart… Thank you!
> 
> Just like the last time, there is a watercolour illustration.
> 
> <https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41541/morning/>
> 
> I hope reading this chapter will bring smiles to your faces. I had a lot of fun writing it. :) 
> 
> (By the way, I’m not sure if you noticed but… Now, with the new work skin in place, the drawings fit the screens of mobile devices! There is no annoying, white margin anymore. If there is, refreshing the page should solve the problem. If it does not, let me know.)

_“At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. At present I know partially; then I shall know fully, as I am fully known."  
1 Corinthians 13:12 (NABRE)  
_

It is still very early and Neal is the only customer in the small grocery store. After saying good morning to a sleepy looking saleswoman, he makes his way down the aisle. This is a routine he knows only too well. Five steps forward, then turn right, take two steps and there… A shelf packed with all sort of cans. Yawning, Neal puts ten tuna ones into the basket.

He feels restless and full of nervous energy. Oh, he is tired, all right, but he knows that even if he were to lie down, he would not be able to fall asleep. It has been one of those nights. Yawning again, Neal rests his forehead against the middle shelf. He needs to focus.

Milk. Cats like to drink milk too. He needs to get milk. Half-asleep Neal turns right to the next aisle only to stop dead in his tracks.

Gaping at the shelf before him, Neal is floored. The shelf is packed. But it is not packed with regular food like the other shelves. No, no - this one is special. Feeling as if he is dreaming, almost reverently Neal takes in his hands a can that has caught his attention. It has a picture of a dog looking similar to the one he met in the park yesterday. The label reads _American Adventure: PREMIUM LOAF_. The description tells him it is _dog_ food.

“I had no idea such things existed!” Neal exclaims, then steps back to look at the shelves from a wider perspective. What he sees is food made specifically for dogs. He shakes his head, then has to hold his breath again. “And cat food?! Wow,” reaching out to take another can from the shelf, Neal feels surreal. For as long as he can remember he has been feeding cats tuna. And he has been in this store dozens of times and somehow never before has he noticed they have food made specifically for cats.

Without further delay Neal puts ten cans of cat food into his basket already filled to the brim with tuna. He turns to find milk when he realizes something. In his left hand he is still holding the can with the smiling Satchmo The Nameless look alike. Looking down at it, Neal frowns, deep in thought.

He really should put it back. Neither him nor the cats are going to eat it. So why bother? Indecisive, he steps from foot to foot. He does not understand his own indecisiveness. Or maybe he does. He is so terribly tired after all.

Frustrated, rather than into the basket, Neal surreptitiously slips the can into his jacket pocket. There. Problem solved. He is going to smuggle the dog food out of the shop while still paying for the rest of the groceries. This way, the can will provide him with an exercise and so, taking it will make sense. Pleased with himself Neal turns on his heel and goes to grab milk. He takes three bottles, then heads for the cashiers. The lady smiles at him and Neal smiles back. He pays with cash. No one questions the canned dog food sticking out of his pocket. Satisfied, he tells the woman goodbye and then heads out of the shop.

Once outside Neal stretches. He has tuna, he has milk, he has everything the cats may need. Now it is time to head back to the workshop. Taking the canned dog food out of his pocket Neal frowns. Only, now does he realize he has no idea what to do with it next. He tosses the can up in the air, then catches it in one hand. The dog on the can really does look like the stray from the park.

Last night could not have been easy for Satchmo The Nameless. Neal wonders whether or not the dog managed to get any sleep. Or did he, just like Neal, felt too restless to even try closing his eyes for longer than five seconds? A bit absent-mindedly Neal starts walking again. Yesterday has been such a mistake. He should have never conned that dog out of trouble. Now that he thinks about it, the guilt over leaving the poor creature behind is the most likely reason for his insomnia. Neal feels terrible. Today’s crew meeting was supposed to be something to look forward to, not dread. And yet, now, he just wants it all to be over. When one is this tired, it is no fun to talk with adults. Kicking the invisible rock before him, he sighs. He does not understand why life is so hard sometimes.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_The first rays of sunlight are what wakes Satchmo up from his happy dreams. Stretching and yawning he looks around. His tail is wagging until… Until he realizes… The empty alley he fell asleep in does not smell like home at all. He can barely recognize the remnants of the scent of the-missing-one on his fur, not to mention the scents of he-who-smells-of-home and she-who-smells-of-home. With his tail tucked in Satchmo looks around. The pup is still nowhere to be found. Not giving up hope Satch tries to call him again._

_He-who-runs-fast!_

_He-who-gives-best-hugs!_

_He-who-plays-best!_

_Just like yesterday there is no answer. Discombobulated, Satchmo sits down. The concrete feels cold. His stomach growls and Satch turns his head to miserably sniff the pile of trash he yesterday made into his nest._

_He whines in disappointment. He should know by now that those things just smell like food but that when one tries to find it, there is no food to speak of. Aggravated by the confusing situation Satch whines harder._

_Pack!_

_Pack!_

_Come back pack!_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Wait a moment. Where does he think he is going? Stopping mid-step Neal feels confused. This is not the way to the workshop. He really has no idea where he has been going and what he has…

And then he realizes. Dear Vincent! He has just managed to unintentionally retrace his steps back to the place where he left that silly dog yesterday. He can even see the street name now. He left Satchmo The Nameless just around the corner from here.

“What are you doing,” turning on his heel Neal mumbles between gritted teeth. Sleep. He needs sleep. Not a crazy dog, not crazy cats, not even the slightly less crazy Vincent The Cat. Why has he left the workshop! Why could he not at least try to lie still for five minutes and see whether or not sleep would come! Why is he always making life harder for himself, why…

Mumbling under his breath some very nasty word that he overheard Mister Keller once use, Neal turns on his heel once again. It probably is just a foolish curiosity that is pushing him onward towards _that_ alley. There is no way the dog is still where he has left him. Just no way. Neal knows that if you are a stray you cannot stay in one place for too long. Otherwise the adults catch you. Satchmo The Nameless must realize that now too. That for a stray like him, there is no place where he can feel safe and…

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_The familiar sounding steps make Satchmo turn_ _around, cock his head and_ _…_

_Is it possible?! Could it be_ _! The dog runs. He runs at full speed only to stop in disbelief before the little two-leg who must be his two-leg because, because…_

_Yes! This is his pup! He not only walks like him but also smells like him and…_

_You’re back! You’re back! He licks the hands of the pup, then starts to jump around him feeling nothing but happiness. His lost pup got unlost._

_He-who-runs-fast! You’re back!_

_He-who-gives-best-hugs! You’re back!_

_He-who-plays-best! Welcome back!_

_Jumping around the youngest of his pack, Satchmo continues to blissfully sing the-missing-one’s many names. His pup is back!_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

In order not to get knocked over by the furry ball of happiness, the stray has become ever since spotting him, Neal rests his back against the cold wall of the building. He can hardly believe his eyes. Just how silly is this dog? Has he really stayed here all night?

Not knowing why, suddenly Neal cannot help but chuckle. Still laughing he slides down the wall onto the pavement. Satchmo takes full advantage of this unexpected opportunity and starts to happily lick Neal’s face. Neal feels too tired to protest. Laughing, he finally starts to pet the dog. At that Satchmo momentarily calms down. He rests his big snout against Neal’s chest. If Satch were a cat, by now the volume of his purr would have woken all citizens of New York City, Neal bets. Such as things are the dog just meets Neal’s eyes happily and tries to lick his face again.

“Dear Vincent,” wrapping his hands around the dog Neal mumbles to himself. “What have I gotten myself into this time, huh?”

_I want to join your crew._ The dog tells him, his expression is deadpan.

“You want to do what now?!”letting Satchmo go, Neal snorts.

_Join your crew,_ Satchmo patiently repeats, his caramel eyes locked with Neal’s.

“I do not have a crew,” Neal hedges, but it sounds too uncertain. Judging from Satchmo’s next words the dog can smell the lie a mile away.

_Really?_ The dog smirks. _What about the cats?_

“What about them?” Neal asks mildly.

_Oh, come on! Everyone knows about your gatherings._

Starting to really get into the game, Neal frowns. He gives Satchmo The Nameless a measuring look. It appears that the rookie may know something after all. “And who exactly is everyone?” he inquires trying to mimic his mentor’s disinterested tone of voice.

Satchmo does not answer. Pretending to be Mister Keller, Neal gives the dog a stern look.

“I won’t repeat myself. Who is your source?” he demands quoting almost verbatim something he once overheard Mister Keller say to some poor soul. Satchmo remains unmoved. It seems Neal’s adult conversation skills need polishing. He scrunches his nose in concentration. What is the dog’s angle in all this? Satchmo is the one who started it all, so why go on and on about his supposed crew of cats, only to keep mum when asked all the important questions?

Then it comes to him. Fishing the stolen can of dog food out of his pocket he shows it to the dog. “I know what your angle is,” he tells him and smiles as Satchmo visibly falters. “Not so smug anymore, are we? Everyone has a price,” Neal yet again quotes his mentor.

Clearly, it is hard for Satchmo to continue his play. Neal sees it in the dog’s eyes. The rookie knows he has lost. Neal allows the silence between them to stretch. “We can do it the hard way or the easy way. Your choice,” he tells him thinking that this particular quote is truly neat. He wanted to use it for a long time.

_Cats talk,_ Satchmo mumbles. Realizing he truly has broken the dog, Neal tries to keep compassion off his face. He needs to stay indifferent for this to work.

“Which ones?” he asks.

_I… I can’t tell you,_ Satchmo stutters.

Frowning Neal goes through the list of the cats who were conspicuously absent during recent gatherings. “Claude The Original,” the name comes out sounding like a swear. He knows there was something fishy about him. “I am right, aren’t I? It was him.” Inside Neal tries not to giggle. His adult conversation skills are truly improving.

Satchmo visibly gulps. _I need food and shelter_ , he pleads.

Pocketing the can of dog food, Neal gazes long at the misfit. Satchmo is looking more pathetic by the second. “I could… Use someone on the inside of Claude’s mob,” he says at last.

This is the moment when Satchmo decides to launch himself at Neal and try to lick his face. Of course the dog would do that right in the middle of their negotiations! Feeling his resolve crack Neal cannot help but smile, then chuckle.

He really is too tired to continue their game. “What an effective tactic” Neal praises the dog. “How unfortunate it is unusable for those of us who aren’t dogs,” he quips. As the dog continues to lick away his worries, Neal has no choice but to hug him back.

“Yeah, I know. Life on the streets is hard,” he sighs. “How about I let you stay at my place for one night.” Looking up at the sky Neal frowns. Or day, he corrects in his thoughts. “Whatever, what I mean is I can give you shelter for just one, um… One cat-, no, _dog_ -allowed-in-workshop unit of time. And I will have you know that dog-hours are much shorter than cat-hours!” His voice turns serious. “After that you will have to go back to learning how to survive on your own.”

_All right._ Looking relieved the dog easily agrees. _How long is a dog-hour again?..._

“Oh, don’t start,” Neal pats the dog’s head in fond exasperation. “How should I know?”

_I remember now! It’s_ _―_

“No, no! It’s up to me! I’m the crew leader here, remember?”

_The best one there is!_ Licking Neal on the nose the dog gushes.

“Mind your cheek, rookie,” Neal snorts. Then, only after a slight moment of hesitation, with one swift movement does he do what he should have done the first time he met the dog. After taking off Satchmo The Nameless’ collar he throws it into the garbage bin where it belongs. Where it belonged ever since the beginning. The con of the adults is over and now Satchmo The Nameless can really move on and start over.

“Satchmo The Nameless,” when Neal puts his hand on the dog’s head, his voice is solemn, after all this is a knighting ceremony of a sort. “You, Satchmo The Nameless, are a new dog now. With a new story to paint. Your life with the adults has come to an end and now it is time for the new adventures to begin. Do you understand?” Neal asks trying to impress on the dog the gravity of the situation. He can see understanding in the dog’s eyes and when the dog barks in agreement Neal gets up from his knees. He still has to think of a better alias for the stray. The Nameless is too blunt for his tastes, but that… That can wait until after the meeting. Right now he really is too tired to be creative.

“Great. Then let’s go back to the workshop,” he tells the stray and then, noting the smell coming from Satchmo he grimaces. “Ugh!” Neal exclaims. He has no idea how he has not noticed it earlier. “Hate to break it to you buddy, but you stink! What have you been doing all night, huh?” he reproachfully asks and then looking around at the trash scattered on the street, he thinks he knows the answer to that question. Compared to yesterday the place looks as if a small tornado has smashed through it. He shakes his head at the dog, then points his finger at him. “Just one night Satchmo The Nameless,” he reminds him sternly. “Just one.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“I’m back!” _are the words that make Vincent look up from his favorite spot on his balcony. He does not understand the sound, but he immediately understands its meaning. The hunt has been a success. Food is coming. Stretching Vincent meows which makes Claude, who is sitting next to him, open his yellow eyes. The two of them glue their noses to the window to have a better look inside._

_And then, suddenly_ _―_ _Claude puts his ears flat, then hisses in distress. Vincent feels his pain. Sometimes looking after his second is a chore. Just like right now. Looking at the barking menace that his second, for some unfathomable reason, has brought home, he wonders why he even bothers anymore. The life lessons do not seem to stick no matter how many times he tries to hammer them into his protégé’s thick head. Hearing another hissed, rather rude comment from Claude, he has no choice but to admit to his associate that his human is still a work in progress. However, in his humble opinion, Claude’s reaction to the whole thing is a definite overreaction. There is no reason to jump off the windowsill and leave in a huff._

_After his guest disappears over the edge of the balcony, Vincent turns to observe his batty, headache inducing human. He fancies his disapproving glare should be self-explanatory to his second._

_Giving his human time to reevaluate his life choices, Vincent tries to catch every sound coming from inside. The dog, following every step of Vincent’s protégé, remains quiet -how wise of him. He hears the familiar sound of the opening tuna can. Then, the steps._

“You waited!” _opening the door, his human exclaims. Hearing the cheerful voice, Vincent despairs over his human’s inability to read his leader’s cues. With the dog safely locked on the other side, Vincent’s human starts to look more apologetic._

_He places the can of opened tuna between them, then opens the bottle of milk and pours it into a small glass and a bowl. The bribe is obvious._

“So. Shall we begin our meeting?” _his human meows an apology and Vincent takes his time to think over this one. He has no intention to go easy on his protégé. There has been enough second chances for him to be lenient._

_Has the dog helped during the hunt for tuna? He finally inquires cocking his head at his human._

_He really hopes, that despite his protégé’s obvious shortcomings, his human knows better than to invest in something that will not bring them tuna._

_Listen, this is not a charity. No free tuna-hand-outs here, especially for dogs, Vincent meows locking his eyes with his second, still not acknowledging the tail-wagging fool behind the window. I will only sign off on the menace’s continued presence if the dog’s skills are properly utilized. Understood?_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“If you hear a voice within you say you cannot eat, then by all means eat and that voice will be silenced.” Amused, Neal misquotes one of Van Gogh’s letters by swapping the word _paint_ with _eat._ Vincent stares back at him unimpressed.

_You have brought a pet here,_ the cat tells him sourly. _I thought Mister Keller told you no pets allowed. You want to get in trouble again? Remember how the last time you tried to invite me over ended up being like? We’ll both get in trouble and you don’t need more trouble. You already have plenty on your plate, don’t you think?_ Already tired half through the lecture that he really, really does not need right now, Neal shakes his head. Then grins.

“I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process,” quoting Van Gogh again Neal keeps his smile bright. The cat does not look convinced.

_He’s trouble_ , Vincent repeats stubbornly. _He’s trouble and you know it._

Sipping on his glass of milk, Neal shrugs. “So am I.”

_That’s not the same._

“Oh, just shut up and drink your milk already, will you?” he tells the cat angrily. He does not have time for these discussions. At 12AM he has a meeting to attend. The dog he brought in smells and needs a bath, not to mention food, so, really, why is it taking Vincent so long just to go ahead and dig in…

As the cat takes a step towards the can, and then another one, all Neal’s thoughts pause. Come on, buddy, you can do it, he cheers for the cat in his thoughts. Just one more little step and…

Yeah! One good deed for the day finished! He has fed the cat. His mum used to tell him to do something nice for someone every day. Content with himself Neal finishes the milk, then gets up and leaving the cat to its tuna and milk opens the door and disappears inside the workshop. Satchmo The Nameless is all smiles when he looks back at him.

“We really do need to think of a better alias for you,” Neal tells him. “I can’t imagine your thoughts that well, with you _so nameless_. I don’t know what you would say,” he crosses the space to the kitchenette, then opens the can with dog food and places it on the floor in front of Satchmo. The dog starts hungrily eating right away and Neal chuckles. “Well, I mean right now, I kind of know what you would say. It would be - munch, munch, munch!” he laughs and Satchmo, pulling away from his food wags his tail in response. He tries to give Neal a kiss. Shaking his head at the dog, Neal sighs. “But Vincent’s right, you know. You are trouble,” he adds more quietly to himself and then with a sigh opens the fridge. It’s time to get something to eat for himself. Cocking his head at the empty fridge Neal cannot believe his own absentmindedness.

He got the food for the cats, he even stole the dog food for the as of yet non-existent dog and yet somehow he… Forgot to get the food for himself!? “I hate you guys!” closing the door angrily Neal sighs. Then, giving the nine tuna cans lying on the counter a foul look, Neal grimaces. No. No way. No way is he going to be eating tuna again. It would be like what, the tenth time this week?! Fiftieth this month! Millionth in his short twelve years of life! No, there is just no way. He is not that hungry. No way…

A moment later Neal finds himself opening the can of tuna and sitting on the floor next to Satchmo. He digs a fork in the conserve and then grimaces. “Bon appetite,” he tells the dog as he looks up at him from his own meal. Satchmo leans over to sniff the can with interest and then - completely forgetting about his wet food, he starts to lick the can Neal’s holding. “No, wait, that’s mine―”

Scrambling Neal loses his hold on the can and the tuna splatters all over the floor. Satchmo takes advantage of the situation. Neal watches the mess in disbelief, then takes a look at the abandoned dog’s food. “Not only does it say _especially_ for dogs but also _adventure_. I mean, come on bud, it must be way better than some canned tuna fish!” The dog, completely focused on licking the fish off the floor ignores him.

“Huh,” Neal cocks his head at the abandoned dog food. It really cannot be worse than tuna, he theorizes. Nothing by this point can. Satchmo simply has no taste buds. Neal picks up the can from the floor, then digs his fork into the glop.

It smells… Well. Not very fancy, that is for sure. Just kind of… Wet and meaty. It also looks wet and meaty. But then again, so do other things people eat. Just cause Satch prefers tuna over it, it does not mean anything. The dog has spent his night in a pile of garbage, after all. He has no style. Despite all that reasoning, still not very convinced, but also feeling morbidly curious, Neal puts a fork with the dog food into his mouth and―

Spitting it onto the floor he starts to cough. “Yuck!” frantically trying to wipe the horrid taste off his tongue Neal exclaims. “And they make you eat this!” agitated, he exclaims. “It’s terrible! It’s ― dear Vincent, Dog’s Adventure, what is this! More like Dog’s Adventure in hell I would say!” Grabbing a bottle of milk from the kitchen counter Neal guzzles it dry.

When, after inhaling the whole bottle, he can still taste the disgusting definitely-not-just-meat-taste on his tongue, Neal grimaces. “We’re never buying - or _stealing_ \- this yucky stuff again, I promise you that,” he tells the dog. “Never! From now on Satch we’re sticking to the normal food. Human food.”

The dog barks in appreciation and Neal, trying to get rid of the taste, brushes his hand over his tongue again. “Yuck,” he grimaces again. “Now I don’t feel like eating anything anymore,” he sighs. His eyes stop on the ten cans of cat food he also bought. He wonders whether or not it would taste as bad or is it just dog food that…

“No! No. Don’t even think about it!” standing up from the floor, Neal shakes his head. “No more experiments today, Neal. No more unless you really want that much to puke on someone’s shoes during that meeting today,” despite the scenario being quite a terrible one, Neal cannot help himself but grin. Now, that would make someone’s day a bad one. Still amused Neal turns to Satchmo. “Bathroom, now,” he commands him. “We need to get rid of this smell while we still can. Or else I’m going to come back here only to find everything in this apartment smelling like Satchmo The Nameless.”

Clearly, not understanding what the problem is, the dog cocks his head at him, but when Neal walks to the bathroom the dog dutifully follows him. When Neal turns on the water, the dog immediately pushes his way through to start to drink it. “You have no manners,” Neal tells him but he allows the dog to quench his thirst. Meanwhile he has a chance to take in his own smell and… Well. He decides that after a day spent running with a dog he does not smell like flowers himself either. He guesses it is not just Satchmo who needs that bath.

Taking a nervous glance at the clock on the wall, Neal breaths out a sigh of relief. 9AM. So. There is still a little bit of time left. But dear Vincent, isn’t he going to be dead tired at that meeting! But that’s just life, Neal concludes. Choices. You make the wrong ones and you end up eating dog food while smelling like garbage.

_Lost my mind in the process, indeed,_ Neal hears Vincent’s remark in his usual cat-like manner from his spot on the balcony.

* * *

Next: **The Franklin Bottle**


	4. The Franklin Bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’m so happy to see you’re enjoying the story. :)
> 
> The chapter was inspired by season 1 episode 12 “Bottlenecked”.

_“_

_"For he lives with the delusion:_  
 _his guilt will not be known and hated.  
_ _Empty and false are the words of his mouth;_  
 _he has ceased to be wise and do good."  
_ _Psalms 36:3-4 (NABRE)_

“Check,” Mister Keller says and Neal finds himself frowning hard on the board. Then, he moves his queen. “Check again,” not bothering to move any of the black pieces Mister Keller chuckles. “You’re dead Georgie, don’t you realize it yet?”

“No, I am not,” Neal retorts, moving the queen again. No way is he going to lose again. There must be a way and he is going to find it and... “Yeah, okay, I give up,” sighing, Neal knocks his white king off the board. Then, he looks up at the watching him adult. “Since when have I been dead?” he curiously asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, kid. Ever since the game begun, perhaps?” Mister Keller chuckles, sipping on his whiskey. As Neal keeps eyeing him, his mentor sighs. Putting away the glass he leans over the board again to retrace back five steps of the game.

“Here?” Neal asks and Mister Keller nods. Neal frowns yet again. He does not see it. “Maybe if…” taking the rook in his hand Neal risks a glance at the adult. Something about Mister Keller’s expression changes his mind. “No,” putting the rook down Neal takes the Knight. “This is what I should have―”

“Yeah, no,” lighting a cigar Mister Keller shakes his head and Neal finds himself pausing yet again. “How about I have a look at those passports while you are thinking?”

Looking up at the adult Neal frowns. “They are not finished yet though.”

“I know.”

“Ok-ay,” with a small shrug Neal stands up. He has left the pages to dry in the bathroom. When he opens the door he can feel on his skin the heat from the heater. “Should I bring all of them?!” he calls out and when Mister Keller does not answer, Neal sighs. So. All of them. He guesses it would be easier to just bring the whole drain board. He takes it in both of his hands and shuts the door with his foot.

“I know how to do my job, you know,” he says crossing the space to the kitchen table. “And I am good at it,” he adds, placing the board on the table. As Mister Keller leans over to examine the passports, Neal steps from one foot to another, suddenly too anxious to take a sit again. “You won’t find any mistakes here,” he continues frustrated with the silent treatment. “I said―”

The laugh of his mentor interrupts him. The adult looks up. “God, will you stop talking for just a second?” As Neal, pursing his lips, does not answer… Mister Keller snorts yet again. “I’m not kicking you out, kid,” he says.

“Well, what are you doing, then!” Neal demands.

“…Sit,” the adult commands and when Neal does as he says, he gives him another one of those crooked smiles of his. “Feeling shaky?” At first Neal does not understand the question, but then, as he glances down at his hands… Embarrassed he hides them in the pockets of his hoodie and looks away. He focuses his gaze on the floor and notices… A hair. There is Satchmo’s hair on the floor. He thought he had been so thorough about cleaning the living room before Mister Keller’s arrival and yet… He has not. Because there is a hair.

Feeling his heart pick up a pace, Neal looks up at the adult again. Is this what it is about? Does his mentor know about the stray? Taking a nervous glance towards the door of the bedroom, Neal finds it hard to keep still. He has kept the dog’s presence a secret for a month now. He has thought he will get away with it. But what if the reason why the adult wants to see these passports now is…

_That guy’s dead_ , Vincent the cat says and Neal finds himself frowning. What?

_What?_ Satchmo asks.

As someone snaps his fingers in front of his eyes, Neal finds himself flinching. Alarmed, he looks at the adult and… “W-what?” he asks weakly and Mister Keller snorts.

“Spacing out already?” he asks and Neal does not answer. Cautiously he keeps eyeing the adult. Blowing smoke in the air the adult sighs. “Right. Forget I asked,” he shakes his head, then meets Neal’s eyes again. “I said that guy’s dead.” The adult passes onto Neal one of the passport pages he has been examining. “He does not need a new passport. All he needs is a coffin and we…” the adult snorts yet again. “Well, we don’t make those.”

“…Oh,” Neal says. Relieved that the adult is sad for the dead man and not angry with him, Neal smiles. “I guess we don’t.” He frowns down at the picture of the man, then looks up at Mister Keller yet again. “Just him?” The adult nods. “Less work for me then,” Neal summarizes, then realizing his fingers are still trembling, Neal puts away the passport and pockets his hands.

“I want the rest to be ready on Monday,” his mentor says after a moment and Neal nods a bit absently. He thinks he will have everything ready earlier than that but decides against voicing the thought aloud. To Neal’s experience the longer the deadline, the better. “All right,” his mentor nods to himself yet again, then locks his eyes with Neal. “Now. Moving on to the important things, kid. The two of us have a job to do.”

“Just us?” Neal asks in surprise and Mister Keller, instead of answering, shoves the chess board aside and then puts the mysterious duffle bag he has brought with himself on the table in front of Neal. He opens it and then nods with his chin at Neal, who takes it as a clue to help himself to the bag.

Inside there is an empty bottle. Taking it in his hands, Neal frowns. “Do you know what it is?” Mister Keller asks and Neal shakes his head. “Really. Never heard of the Franklin Bottle?” At that Neal does look up.

“Franklin Bottle? Seriously?” he asks his mentor in disbelief and the adult grins.

“It better be perfect.”

Looking down at the bottle, Neal sees it with the eyes of an artist. Eyes that can see the potential of creation hidden in every form. “It will be,” he promises his mentor, then reaches into the bag again. “You already got the wax,” he notices and his mentor nods.

“Eighteenth century beeswax from the Château Du Munn vineyard,” his mentor tells him. “The wax and the bottle was a hard part, Georgie. I hope you can deal with the rest?”

“Of course,” Neal smiles and Mister Keller snorts.

“Great. That’s it then,” the adult says, then leaning over the board, he moves the Knight to B5. “That was the move that you should have made, kid,” he says and then gets up.

“Oh…” Neal says and is about to ask some question when he realizes… The adult is almost at the door now. Standing up from his chair, Neal rushes after the adult. “You’re leaving?!”

“What? You need someone to hold your hand?”

Feeling heat in his cheeks, Neal focuses on the bottle in his hands. He has no idea why he has assumed they were going to steal the rest of the supplies together. What has he been thinking? Of course it is going to be _his scavenger hunt_ , not Mister Keller’s.

“I will get the cork and the newspaper,” he quickly tells his mentor, before meeting his amber gaze again. “Do I have a deadline?”

The adult chuckles. “Do we have a deadline, you mean.” He says and noting the surprise on Neal’s face, he decides to explain himself. “I don’t want you to start without me. Just get those things and I’ll come here tomorrow. Then we’ll start. It needs to be perfect.”

Not knowing quite how to answer, Neal frowns. He can make it perfect without Mister Keller, the adult should know that much by now. Well, he cannot make wine, this one is up to his mentor but as for the appearance… And anyway, does the Franklin Bottle even need a good flavor? The moment someone decided to do the potassium test they would know it is a fake.

“And this bottle, it’s going to stay just between the two of us,” the adult says interrupting his thoughts and Neal snorts. There really is no need for his mentor to remind him of the need for secrecy every time he asks him to do something.

“You know it always does,” Neal shrugs and Mister Keller frowns, something like hesitation enters his expression. Then, after nodding to himself, his mentor locks his eyes with Neal again.

“It is finally happening,” the adult announces, then chuckles. “It is finally happening!”

Neal blinks. “What is happening?” he asks a bit confused by the sudden change in atmosphere.

“The score I’ve been waiting for,” Neal moves away as the adult turns around to cross to the table and pour himself another glass of whiskey. Confused, Neal watches the adult dry it in one gulp. “The big score. Score of the lifetime,” his mentor says turning to Neal again. His eyes are shining. The adult laughs. “You still don’t see it, do you? The bigger picture. But don’t worry, I know all the steps, I will show you…”

“The bigger picture?” Neal repeats after the adult blankly.

“You see until now we were after the fish. The little fish, the medium fish, but now…” The adult grins. “We’ll be after the big fish. After the whales.” Putting away the glass, Mister Keller smiles. Neal as always likes it when Mister Keller uses the ‘we’ when talking about the future plans. He stands a bit taller.

“The whales,” Neal repeats, starting to share Mister Keller’s excitement.

Putting the glass away the adult chuckles, then crosses his way to the door and unexpectedly puts both of his hands on Neal’s shoulders. His amber gaze fixes on Neal.

“Georgie. You know I’ve always valued your loyalty. Now I am going to need it more than ever. No one can know about our plans with the Franklin Bottle. No one in the crew, no one in the community. Just you and me. Understood?”

Neal feels a shiver run through him. “I understand,” he gulps and his mentor smiles. Letting go of Neal’s shoulders the adult ruffles his hair.

“Good. I will be back tomorrow. Have everything ready,” he says.

“I will,” Neal promises.

“My boy,” his mentor says and with that he turns away. After shutting the door Neal carefully exhales. Then, he turns away to warily gaze at the table and the chessboard on it. He crosses to it, then sits at the table. Taking a black King in his hand he frowns.

What is his mentor up to this time? It is true that Mister Keller, especially after having a few drinks, likes to make fish comparisons and talk about scores of a life time… But today… Today’s talk felt different. And the adult has still been sober while saying all that stuff!

Spinning the chess piece in his hands Neal frowns. True, Franklin Bottle is a rare curiosity in the community, a bet among forgers. Still - Neal would not call passing it for the real thing the score of a lifetime. Neither would Mister Keller. The adult even have said it himself - it is going to be just a little step towards the greater goal. A beginning…

“Just the two of us,” Neal, feeling quite bewildered now, suddenly realizes. “That’s what he has said. That me and him…” Realizing the truth in those words, Neal pauses yet again. It is him who Mister Keller has chosen to help him catch that whale. Not Penny, not Travis, not even Mil but _him_.

_I’ve always valued your loyalty. No one can know about our plans with the Franklin Bottle. No one in the crew, no one in the community._

Feeling light-headed Neal puts back the piece. Mister Keller has said all those things while not even half-drunk! No, indeed - he has said it while still sober.

“We’re going after the _Moby Dick_ , Georgie,” Neal softly says to himself. Then, as the quite impatient whining comes from underneath the door, Neal shakes himself. “Coming, I’m coming,” he tells his dog happily crossing the space to the bedroom.

Finally freed, Satchmo, with his usual energy jumps on him knocking him onto the floor and licks his face. _You’re taking me on the scavenger hunt with you?_ his happy companion asks and when Neal nods… _Cause I really, really need to go!_ Starting to run in circles around Neal the dog adds a bit more miserably.

Recognizing the frantic plea for a walk, Neal sobers up. The few times he either forgot about the dog or did not realize what Satchmo’s whining meant - the workshop’s floor, just as Neal, deeply suffered because of it. Getting up from the floor Neal runs for the door. “Come on, buddy, come on,” hoping it is not too late he rushes the poor dog out of the workshop.

In a matter of seconds they are out and as Satchmo, stops next to a post to take care of his business… Neal sighs in relief. The disaster has been averted.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Marie Antoinette gave Franklin a bottle of Château Du Munn.” _Satchmo, following after his little two-leg, can still smell he-who-reeks-of-evil-water. He has never met him snout to snout, but one does not need to see a two-leg to judge him by his smell. Satchmo is definitely not taking he-who-reeks-of-evil-water back to the Burke-den with them. He is no pack._

_You are pack, Satchmo barks looking up at his pup and the-missing-one laughs._

_We need to find the-ones-who-smell-of-home, Satch barks yet again and the pup clasps his hands together._

“Yeah, exactly Satch! It is rumored to be in private hands, but it’s never gone to auction,” _he says and Satchmo cocks his head at him. He has never met a puppy who had so many things to bark about. This is one of the reasons for which he himself, during the last weeks, became more talkative. It feels right to bark from time to time to let the puppy know everything is all right and Satchmo got it covered. The-missing-one seems to really need it._

_We’ll find them, with this in mind Satch reassuringly barks._

_The-missing-one’s response is almost immediate._ “Not until now! Exactly,” _he chuckles quickening the pace and then after tapping Satch on the top of the head, he laughs yet again._ “Why is it that you always want to play,” _he asks stopping to pat Satchmo some more._

_We need to find the-ones-who-smell-of-home, Satchmo says licking his puppy on the nose. In response the pup throws his hands around his neck. It feels good to be hugged. It would feel even better if the-missing-one finally stopped playing around and focused on finding their way back to the Burke-den. Unfortunately, Satchmo is aware it might be too much to expect of the pup, especially one as chaotic and unpredictable as the-missing-one._

“Satch. You want to race?” _the pup, pulling away from him, mumbles and Satchmo finds himself barking yet again. The-missing-one laughs._ “Ok. Ready? 3…2…1… GO!”

_The moment the pup starts to run Satchmo forgets all about his previous worries. This, he realizes running after the-missing-one, is one of the best things about the puppyhood. Even while distressed and missing, he-who-runs-fast still knows how to have the best of times. Unlike the-ones-who-smell-of-home he is never boring._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

The caramel eyes focused on him are happy. Neal smiles running his hand through the dog’s soft fur. Satchmo The Nameless is a great companion to have. Unlike the cats the dog has nothing but time for Neal. As Satch tries to lick his face Neal grimaces. He pushes away from him and chuckles as the dog crawls after him. The lab again rests his big head on Neal’s chest and meets his eyes happily. Fortunately, he does not try to kiss him anymore. Neal guesses he is not the only one tired from running. “We still need to find supplies for Mister Keller’s bottle,” Neal reminds the dog and Satchmo blinks in understanding.

_Tell me more about that bottle_ , the dog whines. _What’s so special about it?_

“You see, the point is the Franklin bottle can't be counterfeited,” Neal explains happily. “Figuring out who can pull off the impossible - it’s like a challenge in our community.”

_May the best man win?_

“Exactly!” Neal grins. Smart dog! “So now when we have the bottle, we just need to fill it, cork it, seal it, and label it.”

_And then what?_ Satch asks and Neal frowns. How come he has not asked himself this question before? He has no idea what Mister Keller plans to do next with the bottle.

“Well, my best guess is that he will try to sell it,” he slowly answers the dog. But how is it supposed to lead them to the big whales? He scrutinizes the dog. “Private collector makes sense, though on the other hand - you get the best deals when auctioning such stuff. If he runs the bottle through the auction house…” Neal frowns yet again.

_It could work,_ the dog tells him. _The tests would be standard stuff. Carbon date the cork, run a molecular test on the wax, spectroscopic refraction on the glass…_

“Yeah, maybe.” Neal looks up at the blue sky. He wishes he had taken his sketchbook with him so that he could paint those most curiously looking clouds above him. And Satchmo. Recently, all his sketchbooks have been filled with Satchmo The Nameless’ sketches. He looks back at his companion. “Then again, what if they try to run a cesium test? Vincent himself knows that the Franklin Bottle showing up after all these years will look suspicious.”

_But cesium tests are expensive!_ Satchmo lively disagrees and Neal shakes his head at him. Not really because the dog is wrong - he is quite correct, at that. Action houses do not like to run Cesium tests because they are so expensive. Still, it is the best way of determining the age of the wine without opening it. Cesium 137 does not exist in nature. After they had detonated the first atomic bomb, it spread around the world. Anything that was bottled before 1945, like the real Franklin bottle, would be cesium free. This is the reason why the Franklin Bottle cannot be forged.

_Maybe Mister Keller has found a way around it,_ Satch suggests and Neal shakes his head. He does not think so. Mister Keller can do a lot of things but beating the cesium test is not one of them. It is impossible and that is the beauty of it. Still…

“Bigger picture,” Neal murmurs half to himself and half to Satchmo. “You never see the bigger picture, kid.”

_Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together,_ they hear Vincent the cat helpfully suggesting from afar. Neal smiles.

“Yeah, well, I still cannot see it though,” he tells his friends quietly. “So Franklin Bottle is just a step. A small thing that will lead to greater things…” Satchmo barks in agreement and Neal sighs. It is nice to be included in Mister Keller’s plan. Still, he would rather the adult told him earlier what exactly that big whale they are supposedly hunting looks like. “Dear Vincent, there really is some kind of treasure out there, isn’t there?” Neal suddenly whispers under his breath, his eyes are shining.

_Mister Keller is the best for including you in!_ Satchmo confirms while Vincent just purrs. The cat has got a lot to be happy about. Mister Keller has told them that he excluded everyone else from his plan. Everyone else _but_ Neal. Neal is the only one included, everyone else - Penny, Travis, Mil… All those adults… They all have no clue what is really going on. It is just him and Mister Keller. The two of them and their hunt for the white whale. Enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face, Neal closes his eyes. If mum could see him now she would be proud. He knows she would.

“Let’s not fail Mister Keller, ok?” Suddenly pulling himself upright, Neal turns to gaze at Satchmo. “We can’t fail him.” The dog barks sounding just as determined as Neal and Neal furrows his forehead. “Okay…” he slowly says. “I have an idea where we can find the newspapers.”

_Where?_ the dog cocks his head at him with interest.

Neal grins. “I bet that’s what they use for insulation in the walls at the Colonial Ale House,” he tells his friend.

_What about the cork?_ Satch asks and Neal frowns.

_Um, what about the maritime exhibit,_ they hear Vincent suggesting.

“Great idea!” Neal clasps his hands together. Hugging the dog one more time, he chuckles. He has no idea what he would do without his dear animal friends. He cannot imagine how lonely it would feel to have no one but himself to care for and talk with. “I love you two so much,” he tells his pets and hears Vincent chuckle at that.

_Just remember to buy tuna while you’re at it_ , the cat then lazily says.

“And remind me to get some whiskey for Mister Keller too. Our stock has looked near empty today,” Neal adds a bit absentmindedly, getting up from the grass. He would really want to know what exactly that whale Mister Keller is hunting for is. His mentor can be a bit too uncommunicative at times.

* * *

Next: **After the bidding**


	5. After the bidding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **I decided to change the day I update from Wednesday to Sunday**. This is why you get this chapter early. :) 
> 
> **//Warning! child abuse:** Nothing explicit, but Keller is a manipulative bastard and Neal—as is oftentimes the case with children who grow up in an abusive environment—is heartbreakingly blind to it. **//**
> 
> Illustration:<https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41573/friends/>
> 
> This chapter was inspired by season 1 episode 14 “Out of the Box”

_Vincent does not know when the-barking-menace became the-yellow-idiot._

_What he does know, is that having a dog has not turned out to be as torturous an experience as he thought it would be. Surprisingly, having a dog has its perks._

_His second is better behaved. His second’s scent is happier. His second stopped pretending not to understand Vincent’s demands to let him inside their hideout._

_And the most important thing. Tuna._

_Under Vincent’s orders, the dog works for his keep. The tuna hunt is now a daily occurrence. His second leaves with the-yellow-idiot in tow and they return with sweet, sweet, deliciously fishy tuna. Surprise, surprise. The dog can hunt._

_Vincent is unsure what exactly the-yellow-idiot did to his protégé, but he cannot argue with the results. His second has become more disciplined. Come to think of it, they should have snatched a dog for themselves ages ago. Evidently, his second needed his own loyal underling to finally take his responsibilities seriously. And thank the fishes for being lucky enough to be blessed with an underling who understands the importance of tuna. Because. Tuna._

_Moving on from the matter of tuna and onto the matter of security._

_What Vincent cannot comprehend, is why his human has not yet taken advantage of the-yellow-idiot's presence to drive the-evil-one from their domain once and for all. Certainly, the-yellow-idiot is not the brightest tail in the litter; on the one paw, he does not understand hierarchy at all, but on the other paw, why keep a dog if you are not going to use him to ensure victory over your enemies?_

_Vincent is not the one to fail to pounce on an opportunity when he spots it._

_And so the day has come._

_Today is the day he will approach the-yellow-idiot. It is time for Phase Two. It is time to make an alliance._

_Vincent carefully observes his target, then huffs in amusement. Who would have thought that after all this time the answer to his woes would come in the form of a barking-tail-wagging-yellow-idiot._

_Vincent jumps off the wardrobe and begins his careful approach. His ally-to-be is lazing about on the floor. He sneaks upon the-yellow-idiot and pats the dog’s nose._

_Vincent takes a step back the moment his future-comrade-in-arms cracks his eyes open. He sits in front of him with his chest puffed out and his tail curled neatly around him._

_I need to talk to you, he begins. There is a matter of the utmost importance that we need to discuss._

_The-yellow-idiot blinks his eyes at him in assent. Vincent’s tail twitches in satisfaction. So far so good._

_Let’s touch noses and form an alliance, Vincent solemnly meows. Let’s take down the-evil-one. Together._

_It is hard for Vincent to contain his glee when he sees the dog’s enthusiasm for the Grand Plan._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_The gentle pat on his nose is what wakes Satchmo up. Opening his eyes, he is surprised to find he-who-walks-by-himself sitting right in front of him. He does not remember the cat ever getting this close to him without the-missing-one’s assistance._

_The meows are sincere and to the point. Satchmo listens to the speech with fascination. He-who-walks-by-himself has never been this voluble._

_The moment the-pup’s-little-friend is done meowing, Satchmo answers. He knows exactly what to bark._

_That’s right! You understand! You are my pack! You are pack!_

_He gently bumps noses with he-who-walks-by-himself. He is beyond happy._

_I want both you and the-missing-one to come back to the Burke-den with me, he tells his-little-friend. Both of you will love it there!_

_As he-who-walks-by-himself meows in response, Satchmo wags his tail. It is agreed._

_Finally. Finally, after all this time, he-who-walks-by-himself has come to his senses! Satchmo has never suspected how hard of a task integrating two packs would be, but now…_

_With the cat finally on board, all that is left to do is to make the-missing-one understand that he is missing. Satchmo is certain that together with his-little-friend they will be able to get the-missing-one home in no time._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_Vincent has to put his and the-yellow-idiot’s strategy session on hold when he hears his human’s yawning, and then feels his second’s hand gently pat him on the head._

_Oh! Right there, right there, over… Vincent pushes his spine against the palm. Yeah… That’s the spot, he purrs. His human’s scratches are the best._

“Morning!” _his second laughs._ “Aw, Satch, Vin! I see you two are finally getting along!”

_His ally is eager to get his dose of scratches too and Vincent lets him._

_We’re at war, Vincent informs his protégé, adjusting himself so that his belly could be scratched as well. The-evil-one is going down._

“Yeah, I know, Vin! I am also wondering how the bidding went… Hopefully, Mister Keller will tell us soon.” _His second’s battle spirit pleases Vincent. He knew his protégé would understand the importance of the Grand Plan. Closing his eyes, he curls up in his human’s lap._

_After the exhaustion that was Phase Two he deserves a good nap, he thinks._

_Falling asleep, Vincent envisions what a great warrior the-yellow-idiot will make._

_Having a dog is the best._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_List of stolen items: antique cork duck decoys from the store room, wax sealed supply list and French soil samples that belong to Doctor John Bartram…_ Peter sighed reading the ridiculous report of last week’s heist of the Natural History Museum. “Who is doctor John Bartram anyway?” he muttered under his breath putting away the file on the pile of cases for the rookies. For the kids.

“Father of American botany,” Jones remarked and Peter found himself having to mask his surprise at the voice with a frown. Usually a detail such as one of his subordinates lingering in the doorway of his office would not have escaped his attention. Unfortunately, things were lately far from normal for him. Who had heard of an FBI agent who, after a whole month, still could not find his lost dog? And yet that was exactly the person Peter had slowly grown into within the past four weeks. No extra hours, no LOST flyers, no calls and visits to shelters and veterinary clinics had helped him and Elle find their dog. For all Peter knew Satchmo could have gone underground.

“18th century?” He asked gesturing agent Clinton Jones to come into the office. He did think the name Bartram sounded familiar.

“Yeah,” his subordinate nodded, then looked at him expectantly. Peter gestured for him to sit down. Jones was about to hear some pretty bad news.

“The auction house is not pressing any charges,” he stated once Jones was seated.

“What? Two Franklin bottles make it to the action, both pass all the standard tests, the action house runs the cesium test which proves one of the bottles to be a fake and they… What, they still don’t want us to investigate?!”

“By the looks of it,” Peter shrugged, then gestured to the pile on his desk. “And, apparently, due to the client confidentiality, they don’t have to.”

“But we know it was Keller who submitted the fake bottle, it had to be him,” Jones said, his eyes were hard. It was mostly his case to begin with and so Peter understood the rage. They really thought that this time they were going to pin down Keller for good. Unfortunately, without the action house’s cooperation, their hands were tied.

“We don’t have enough evidence,” he simply told Jones. “And we have other cases to worry about,” He tapped the pile of files on his desk. “You’ve spent over three weeks on Keller, we have to move on. Hughes’s orders.”

“I can’t believe it,” Jones grimaced, then nodded to himself. “Yep, that’s a downer.” After those words they both sat in a loaded silence. The cases involving Keller really had this way of getting under the skin. The crook was linked to everything from arms smuggling to stolen antiquities, and yet they never had anything more on him than hearsay. This time was supposed to be different and yet… They still had nothing. Just another file to add to the stack of the unsolved cases.

The sudden knocking interrupted Peter’s thoughts. It was agent Diana Berrigan and unlike them, she was actually smiling. “Boss, got a minute?” she asked entering the office, then frowned noting Jones’s presence. “Aw, Clinton, why the long face?”

“Keller has slipped us once again,” Jones grimaced.

“He has, hasn’t he…” she slowly said and then, her smile turned into more of a grin. “Or maybe not.”

“How so? What am I looking at?” Peter asked straightening in the chair. Diana handed him the file.

“The best detective work ever completed,” she announced. “Using this little recipe I now know for sure who the real Franklin bottle seller was.”

“You don’t say…” Peter mused under his breath opening the file.

“Douglas Neumann. An art dealer and collector officially in possession of over fifteen artworks worth approximately thirty million. Boys from DC were investigating one of the paintings he had sold. It was a forgery, but they failed to prove Douglass had known about it. Still, ever since then, his credibility in the art world has really been low. Basically, he cannot sell a single piece for more than half of its value anymore. What did draw my attention, however, are those seven paintings in his collection… You can see them on page five.”

“Huh… Very poor provenance and yet all insured,” Peter cocked his eyebrow at his probie. “Thanks to Keller he just made a million on a bottle. You seriously think he’s planning to do an insurance fraud now?” he asked her.

Diana shrugged. “I realize it’s a long shot, but I feel like this coupled with Keller’s presence on the auction… I don’t know. What if it’s not a coincidence two bottles got submitted? What if it has been a start of some sort of business partnership between Keller and Neumann?”

“And Keller has more than a few insurance frauds under his belt,” Peter nodded. Then, he grinned. “Diana, I think you might have just resuscitated our case.”

Diana smiled back, then grimaced. “But even if I am correct about what they are planning… It still does not change the fact we don’t know when. Or by what means.”

Peter nodded. Keller was slick. In the instances like this one the best thing to do was to get someone inside the crew - either a CI or an agent. Unfortunately, Keller’s crew was a tight one. Various agencies had tried to infiltrate it over the years with no success. To be quite honest, they were not even exactly sure who, except Keller, was in it. But there was something about that Douglass Neumann file that gave him an idea. Because what if…

Peter stood up. He met both of the terrible duo’s eyes in determination. “Call the conference. This time we’ll try to bite the sandwich from the other side.”

“Meaning?” Jones asked.

“Meaning let’s forget about Keller for a while and completely focus our efforts on Neumann. He may just turn out to be our in.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Douglas Neumann,” Mister Keller announces decidedly putting his glass of whiskey onto the table. Neal forces himself not to flinch away at the abrupt movement.

“What about him?” he asks, his voice is small. Since the adult burst into the apartment to tell him that the bottle, they had counterfeited, had not passed the cesium test, Neal has been edgy. If it had not been for Satchmo, he would have run away the moment he heard the news. Such as things are he has to stay put. For an hour now he has been waiting for Mister Keller to finally burst into anger directed at his lack of skill. Even if being angry at Neal would make no sense whatsoever. He could not have known there would be an original sold at the auction. It is Mister Keller’s job to know about these things. Unfortunately, it is Neal’s job to take all the blame when the things go wrong so… Yep. All he can do now, is just to watch the adult sip on the whiskey and wait. Patiently wait for what is coming.

“He’s the one we lost to,” unexpectedly, his mentor smiles. Neal feels a shiver run through him. Biting on his lower lip, he forces his body to stay put. Satchmo. Satchmo. He needs to think about Satchmo. He cannot leave the dog alone with the angry adult. “You don’t drink?” Mister Keller asks and when Neal shakes his head, his mentor frowns. “You sure? You look kind of pale. Just get yourself something to drink, will you?”

Getting up from the chair and crossing to the fridge, Neal says nothing. He scrutinizes the contents of the fridge, but there is just whiskey. His moves are mechanical when he pours himself a glass and tries the bitter liquid. It tastes just as awful as he remembered. Feeling dizzy, Neal returns to sit down across Mister Keller again. The adult’s gaze at him is weirdly bemused.

“Well? How is it?” he asks and Neal tries to smile. He feels on the edge of tears. This waiting is what is going to kill him in the end. “And here I thought you hated good whiskey!” Mister Keller chuckles. “Then again, today’s the day to celebrate!”

Neal blinks. “What?” he blankly asks not understanding a single word he has just heard.

“What, what?” Mister Keller teases and Neal takes a deep breath.

“You have just said today’s the day to celebrate,” he says softly and when the adult nods… Neal can just gape at him. “But we lost!” finally, he exclaims. His mentor just laughs.

“The bigger picture, Georgie! Remember what I constantly keep telling you, remember the bigger picture!” Neal watches the adult finish the glass of whiskey with a content smile. “You still can’t see it, can you?”

Neal does not answer. Looking down at the glass in his hands, he feels confused. So Mister Keller… So Mister Keller is not mad? There will be no punishment…?

He risks taking a glance at the adult and the man is still smiling. He gestures to the table. “Come on, I am in a mood for a game of chess,” he announces and Neal’s moves are again mechanical. He gets up, opens one of the cupboards and then places the chessboard on the table in front of Mister Keller. “I’ll explain everything during the game,” his mentor promises when Neal takes his seat.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal is going to lose this one. He knows he is unfocused and because of the alcohol flooding his system, it is also really hard to hide it from the adult. Still, Mister Keller does not seem to mind. Not being mean in the slightest, rather cheerfully, the adult knocks one of Neal’s knights, then turns to grin at him.

“So, kid. Let me tell you what the plan is now,” the adult says and Neal can just numbly nod. He still does not understand why he is not being punished right now. He watches the adult fish out an envelope from his pocket. The writing on it is in golden cursive.

“Look who has just invited me over,” the man tells him and Neal frowns. Invited? Who?

As the silence between them stretches, the adult finally waves the envelope in front of Neal’s eyes. “Georgie, Georgie, Georgie… Douglas Neumann, obviously!” he tells him.

“The same one whose bottle turned out to be real? Why!” Neal exclaims and Mister Keller shrugs.

“Make your move,” he rushes him and when Neal does, the adult shakes his head. “Kid, you’re way over your head, aren’t you,” he scolds him. “Come on, just think. It shouldn’t be _this_ hard.”

Feeling dumb, Neal focuses on the chessboard in front of him. He tries to change the position of the pawn again but Mister Keller just scoffs. Now it is coming. Now it is going to be bad. Neal bites on his lip. “But it’s hard,” he whispers half to himself, half to his cats and only half aware that Mister Keller can hear him. This whiskey he has just drank must have been a strong one. Instead of answering, the adult slaps his hand, then takes the pawn away from Neal and places it on the chessboard. “Oh,” Neal stammers.

“Yeah, well, don’t thank me, by the looks of it you’ll lose anyway,” Mister Keller says, then chuckles. “Actually, you know what, I’m going to play against myself now, it will be more challenging this way.”

Neal does not answer. Slumping in the chair, he feels somewhat relieved. His head is really too dizzy to focus on anything now.

“All right, so as I’ve been saying. Douglass Neumann is the one we lost our bottle to. But, it is also Neumann for whom I stole this bottle a couple of months back,” the adult says.

“Oh…” after the initial shock has passed, Neal can only feel in awe of his mentor. “Seriously?! You knew all along the authentic bottle would be on that auction!” he exclaims and the look Mister Keller gives him is an amused one.

“Without competition, the bottle would have passed for a third of the price it went for yesterday. Intrigue creates desire, remember that.” Neal nods in enthusiasm at the wise words. “But that is just half of what we wanted to achieve.” Not understanding a thing, Neal nods yet again. “The other half,” his mentor gestures to the letter, “is here. Because we have just got invited to join the party held by Neumann next Tuesday. They are having a banquet, one of those you like - with lots of art enthusiasts and other rich people you can amuse.”

For a longer moment Neal does not answer, but then as the words catch up to him… “Us?” he repeats in awe. Filled with excitement, he grabs the envelope and quickly opens it only to feel disappointed. There is no mention of a single George Devour on the invitation. “Not us, just you.”

The adult shrugs. “And where I go, you go,” he tells him. “Even uninvited.”

And that is when it hits him. Dear Vincent, no… No. His mentor cannot be serious.

“You want us to rob one of your business partners again!” Aggravated, Neal stands up. The floor looks weirdly unsteady now. “No, no, no, I’m not getting into that mess again, last time was really enough to―” Neal does not finish as the wave of nausea hits him hard. Desperate, he makes a run for the bathroom. That whiskey was definitely a mistake and now he is going to pay for it.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

When he comes to the living room again Mister Keller is still there, playing chess by himself. “Want another drink?” he teases the moment he sees Neal.

Feeling heat on his face, Neal crosses the space to retake the chair he so disgracefully abandoned earlier. His eyes pause on the schematics that somehow found their way onto the table. They have not been there before. “This job will be a bit different,” Mister Keller says. “It’s not a bank or a museum. Instead think of it as a fort.”

Taking the plans in his hands, Neal does not answer at first. After a moment, feeling resigned, he sighs. “Then, if we had a tank, or an air force, maybe…”

“But we don’t, do we?” Mister Keller states, his voice is dry. Looking at his mentor, Neal furrows his forehead. The adult sighs. “I’m sorry for how things turned out last time, kiddo. But I promise. This time it’s going to be different.”

“But doesn’t the first rule say not to steal from your accomplices…?”

“Up to a point, it does,” the adult admits. “But not when a prize is so high,” he then adds, his smile is full of satisfaction. His mentor fishes out a picture out of his leather jacket pocket, then passes it to Neal. He takes it. It is an old black and white, heavily damaged photo. In it, a richly decorated music box can be seen, it looks 17th century, baroque era.

“Does not look too special to me,” trying to sound light, Neal remarks. To be honest, it looks worryingly heavy and also - bulky. It would be difficult for him to carry.

“Really, it doesn’t?” Mister Keller teases him.

“Worth maybe a million or two but certainly not all this trouble,” Neal says, ignoring the adult and frowning upon the schematics again. Mister Keller is right. It is a fortress. And not just that, but also… Again recalling the events of the last summer, Neal grimaces. There are simply people you should never think of robbing. Has Mister Keller not learned that?

“No way!” Neal suddenly exclaims, getting up from the chair. “You’ve promised to keep me away from people like that, never to make me rob them again and now―”

“Enough!” Suddenly, the adult gets up. Before Neal knows it, he gets pinned to the chair. He opens his mouth to protest, but Mister Keller’s eyes on him are cold. “I’ve said _enough_ ,” the adult speaks softly. Looking at the adult, wide-eyed Neal closes his mouth. “Better,” Mister Keller smiles. “Now it’s my time to talk, all right?” Neal nods and his mentor lets him go.

Neal watches him light a cig, then frown upon him. “It’s just a little mansion. And Russian mob has nothing to do with Neumann. This is different.” Neal does not answer. No. It is not different at all. The only reason Mister Keller is asking him for help, must be because he realizes that none of his other men would be insane enough to jump into that fire with him.

Looking away from the adult, Neal bites on his lip. “I really don’t like the risk, sir,” his words sound soft, frightened. He realizes he is still shivering from the attack. Not able to relax and feeling suddenly very deflated, Neal waits for another outburst of anger towards him. And then…

“After all this time you still have no real concept of how much I trust you Georgie, do you…” the words come as such a surprise to him that Neal can just look up and gape at the adult. Meeting the amber gaze, he feels lightheaded. What? He watches the adult step away from him, look through the window, then sigh. After lighting another cig his mentor finally turns back to him. “Want to know what really is going on kid? What was going on then and what is going on now? Why we need to take such big risks.” His mind blank, Neal does not answer. Mister Keller smiles. “Well?”

“…You’re actually going to tell me?” he finally manages to utter. The adult chuckles, then draws out his hand to ruffle Neal’s hair, and when Neal is not able to stop himself from flinching away… Mister Keller grimaces. Neal watches him slump on the previously unoccupied chair next to Neal’s and then give him a long gaze.

“You deserve to know,” he finally says. “After all… Unknowingly you’ve been chasing that white whale for some time now. It’s the reason I’ve burned so many contacts over the years.”

“A white whale?” Neal echoes and then, full of speculation, he shifts his gaze back to the music box. “You mean the box?”

Unexpectedly, the adult grins. “I mean, the treasure worth billions that it leads to,” the adult announces, his voice quiet. “A treasure, Georgie, that _we_ can make _ours_. No one else’s to share. A score of a lifetime, just in our reach.”

For a longer moment Neal does not answer. He watches the adult smoking the cig, his eyes glistening as if from some inner joy. Thinking again about the last summer, Neal sighs. It would really be a bummer if things turned out like that again.

Suddenly, the adult scuffs. “Oh, come on. You’re such a wimp.”

“No, I just―”

“Then what is it!” his mentor demands. “I’ve told you before, as long as you stick with me you are safe! And last time really was an accident, you know I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,” suddenly feeling very small Neal, wraps his arms around his legs. Mister Keller is right. He can be such a coward sometimes. But then again, as his mum used to tell him… He is just a kid. So he really needs to be careful in picking his fights. And Mister Keller would usually understand that.

“I just don’t want things to change,” the admission surprises him and yet... Voicing the thought aloud, Neal realizes how true it is. A year ago it really would not have hurt that much to leave New York, but now… Now he really likes this life Mister Keller has helped him build. He has his mentor, his cats, now he even has a dog… Feeling shy he risks glancing up at the adult. “I am happy now,” Neal admits softly. “I like where I am and I don’t want things to change or… Or for _you to flee_.”

Hearing that Mister Keller smiles. Neal watches the adult pick up the white king. “Sometimes change is good Georgie,” gazing upon the piece, the adult tells him. “And I know the changes that are coming will be good,” he meets Neal’s eyes again. “I also know that to get the treasure you need to first give something up. My boy, yes, changes are coming, but you can trust me when I say it is for the better. I’ve included you in all my plans. Both those before and after finding the treasure. We make a great team, kiddo. You and I.”

After those words sink in, for a while Neal can just gape at the adult. When he finds his voice again it sounds uncertain but also weirdly hopeful. If Mister Keller feels the same way about the New York life as Neal does, then maybe he is going to be more careful than the last time he attempted something as drastic as betraying one of his business partners. “You really think that?” he asks.

Mister Keller chuckles. “I do,” he confirms. “Come on. I will explain my plan to you while we play chess,” the adult tells him and then gets up from the chair. He sits across the table from Neal again. Absentmindedly Neal starts repositioning the fallen pieces on the chessboard. Lost in thought, he observers the adult as he takes another sip of his whiskey.

“You know…” after a moment Neal dares to remark. “Till now, I kinda thought you were half-joking, when talking about that treasure. But it really does exist, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” the adult confirms. Then he picks up the black king in his hand and starts rotating the piece. “Georgie…” the adult’s eyes again lock with Neal’s. “I trust you, you know that?”

Feeling a lump in his throat, Neal does not answer. This _trust_ thing again. He has actually managed to forget Mister Keller told him such before. More than anything he wants to reciprocate, he wants to exclaim how much he loves the adult for taking him off the streets, for protecting him and yet… He feels as though, if he ever dared to voice that sentiment aloud, Mister Keller would disappear like a mirage. Also, it would probably be too touchy-feely for his mentor’s tastes.

“Then I hope you find it,” Neal decides to say instead and when the adult gives out a small chuckle, “I hope _we_ find it,” he decides to emphasize shyly. Mister Keller nods with approval.

“Your move,” gesturing at the chessboard, his mentor then says.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

It is the middle of their second game when Mister Keller finally starts sharing again. “We don't have an air force, but the party will get us past the first wall of security and into the main ballroom.” Forgetting all about chess, Neal’s attention turns to the schematics on the table. “There's only one way into the inner sanctum. It's through this security door. This door is our biggest obstacle,” the adult taps the schematic and Neal nods.

“Looks like there's no keypads, no biometrics, no lock,” he notices reading the markings on the paper.

“The only way is to either get buzzed through by a guard stationed in the security room or through the ventilation system,” Mister Keller confirms his suspicions. “Once you’re through, there's a long stretch of hallway monitored by a closed-circuit camera. When you make it down the hallway, you can get into the Neumann’s office,” his mentor continues, as if it were easy, just like that.

“Which safe is it, exactly?” a bit absent-mindedly Neal asks and the adult snorts.

“I'll let you know,” his tone is dry. “When you find the safe, all you have to do is crack it. It's high-security and torch-resistant.”

“Meaning I’ll need heavy metal?”

“To get through the fire-resistant plate, yes.” The adult smiles, then waves his hand at Neal. “But those are the details, you’ll take care of them later. Now the important thing is, _are you in_?”

The question surprises him. And so does the seriousness he can see in those amber eyes. As if Mister Keller has to ask. “I…” Feeling shy Neal smiles. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, sir!” he grins. “But how about thirty percent?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself kid, the music box is not to be fenced,” the adult chuckles.

“Then what is it for?” Neal asks, his voice is curious.

“It is to be _solved_.” His mentor smiles and when Neal blinks in lack of understanding.... “To be decoded,” the adult adds in, then distinguishes the cig. “All right,” he watches the adult get up. “That’s all you need to know for now. I’ll be dropping by on a daily basis now, we need to have it all perfectly rehearsed and also… I think…” unexpectedly his mentor grins. “Travis could serve as a perfect distraction, don’t you think?” Following the adult to the doorway, Neal feels lost for words. Travis? A distraction? Their crew, a distraction? While he and Mister Keller are the only people who know what is really going on…? _A treasure hunt_. The thought makes him feel dizzy and only the tap on his forehead does bring him back to reality. Mister Keller’s smile is wide when he gazes down on him “Well?” he asks.

“I’m in,” not remembering what the question has been, Neal repeats and the adult sighs.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” he then laughs and that is it. The adult leaves and the door closes after him. Left alone, Neal crosses the space back to the chair. He slumps in it, then glances up at the ceiling.

_A score of a lifetime. A treasure. Hidden somewhere out there for me to find_ , Neal recalls the adult’s words. _Can you imagine, the treasure, our treasure. Waiting for us to find it… You think the ten percent I usually cut you is a lot? Now imagine having a billion in your hand._

Neal shakes his head. Admittedly, there has been something disquieting about those glistening eyes of the adult that he has taken no liking to. Something dangerous lurking deep within that gaze. Last summer he saw it too. They nearly died then because of that mad glint. Then again…. Mister Keller has said the prize is high. And if the prize is high you need to take even higher risks. So, really…

Closing his eyes Neal tries to imagine the treasure. What would it look like? What would it be? Mister Keller has said the music box is just another piece of the puzzle. Just as the Franklin Bottle. And apparently, the Franklin Bottle has been a success.

The meow behind the window causes Neal to look up. Seeing Vincent, he gets up and then lets the cat inside the workshop. Purring, the little artist jumps into Neal’s arms and Neal chuckles. He crosses the space to open the door to the bedroom and is surprised to find Satchmo having a nap on the floor next to the door instead of waiting for him. Taking care not to wake him up, Neal steps over him and then squeezes himself, the cat and the schematics grabbed from the table, in the corner next to the dog. He opens the folder on Neumann Mister Keller has given him. As he gets to the third page, Neal suddenly cannot help but chuckle. The cat cocks his head at him and Neal grins.

“Looks like we’ve found a weak spot,” Neal tells the cat and when Vincent too reads the paper, his purring becomes much louder.

_His favorite artist is Fancelli,_ the cat says.

“Yep,” Neal confirms. “And Mister Keller has said we need heavy metal to get through that safe. That means drilling. And what better hiding place than inside one of the Fancelli's sculptures?”

_Always happy to contribute to the art history,_ Vincent purrs.

“I will need clay and also more research materials,” Neal decides, then looks down at the sleeping dog. Lying next to Satchmo, he wraps his arms around his friend. “Bud? Wanna go for a walk?”

Vincent, already knowing what’s coming, jumps away from Neal and settles himself on the bed to watch from a safe distance the crazy ball of energy that the dog always becomes when awoken. Neither the cat nor Neal have to wait for too long.

_What has Mister Keller said?! What has he said?!_ the dog starts to bark and Neal, chuckling, can just protect his face from all the kisses.

“He’s said we’re going to make a sculpture!” when Satchmo finally settles down a bit, Neal dares to tell him and the look the dog gives him is an amazed one. “So. First. We need to get supplies,” he explains. “And that means a walk,” after a moment, much to the dog’s joy, Neal decides to add. What a wonderful day today has turned out to be!

* * *

Next Sunday: **Trust, but verify**


	6. Trust, but verify

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! As always, thank you for your feedback. Finding time to write and edit this story is hard, so it’s really important to me to know that someone is enjoying my work.
> 
> Last week, Margarete1 posted an insightful comment on chapter 5. The part where Neal drank alcohol made them worried. They wondered why Neal does not fill the fridge with milk, yogurt, juices and soda and whether he only thinks about animals and Keller. I thought that some of you might find my reply interesting. I provided a bit of insight into Neal’s character:
> 
> I understand why a scene where a 12-year-old is drinking whiskey can make someone uncomfortable and worried. Children should not drink alcohol.
> 
> In the chapter Neal drank alcohol out of fear and confusion. He thought that Keller was mad at him because the bottle failed to pass the test. In my story, when Neal was younger, Daniel (his mum’s boyfriend) had forced him into drinking alcohol once. I think that the fear Neal felt, when hearing Keller’s order to get himself something to drink, subconsciously reminded him of that trauma. He did not want Keller to get even more angry and so, he panicked.
> 
> If Neal were any less afraid of Keller or if Keller were any less of a bastard, nothing of the sort would have happened. Neal does not like alcohol. In fact, he hates it. However, in that moment he was just a frightened kid trying to stay on the good side of his abuser.
> 
> Now, about the fridge… I think I should start by saying that Neal’s fridge is not his per say. Just like the workshop is not his – it belongs to Keller and Neal does not think of it as his home.
> 
> When he was younger he and his mum moved around a lot. They never stayed in one place for too long and so Neal never had a home. Another problem was that Neal’s mum did not know how to take care of herself, much less how to take care of her son. 
> 
> Neal suffers from the consequences of that neglect. Nothing about his current lifestyle is healthy. He suffers from lack of sleep, doesn’t eat regularly and feels lonely.
> 
> In the story the almost empty fridge becomes a symbol of that loneliness. 
> 
> And there is also an almost symbolic reason for each and every thing that does find its way inside the fridge.
> 
> Tuna and milk: One of the ways Neal fights his isolation is by befriending cats. They keep coming back because he feeds them. So, mostly it’s not about the cats, it’s about the cats helping Neal feel less lonely. That is why one would usually find milk and tuna in the fridge. 
> 
> Whiskey: The reason why there must always be whiskey in the fridge is because Neal depends on Keller’s goodwill. He both looks up to his mentor and is afraid of him. He believes that if there were no whiskey in the fridge, something bad would happen. He is afraid that if it were to happen, Keller would kick him out onto the streets.
> 
> To conclude, in Neal’s mind, whiskey, tuna and milk are not the same as yogurt, juice or soda. It does not mean that the fridge is always as empty as in chapter 5. However, by its emptiness, I wanted to show just how hard it is for Neal to live on his own. With no one to take care of him and to show him how to look after himself, his life is in a state of chaos.

_"What did our pride avail us?_   
_What have wealth and its boastfulness afforded us?_   
_All of them passed like a shadow_   
_and like a fleeting rumor"_   
_Wisdom 5:8-9 (NABRE)_

“HK MP5 was in the briefcase. Trigger was in the handle. It would fire through the briefcase shell while you were walking,” having finished his story, Peter watched the man sitting across from him laugh. Douglas Neumann, as it turned out, liked good stories. Especially when they were about arms trafficking and other law-breaking behaviours.

That was one of the reasons why in Peter’s mind there was no question about whether Neumann and Keller were good pals. Not anymore at least, not after having talked to the man. They simply had to be. Just like the inflated price of the Franklin bottle had to have been prearranged. The difference between the two criminals was that Neumann, unlike Keller, came from a connected family. One of those connections led to the Flynn organization, a small mob family from Nevada, mostly involved in gunrunning.

Which was fortunate since the FBI organized crime division already had someone undercover in the Flynn organization. That same agent agreed to vouch for Peter. And so, just two weeks after Neumann had come on their radar, Peter was at the third meeting with the man and was already talking to him as if they were old pals. He could not wait to put that one behind bars. With or without Keller, Douglas Neumann had to go down. He was far too dangerous to be allowed to remain free.

“You’re a good man, Peter,” the crook said around his cigar. Then, he grinned. “With one hell of a background.”

“I can say the same about you, Douglas,” Peter smiled wondering whether or not it could be it, the moment every undercover agent waited for ― to be invited by the target to become part of their illegal activities.

“That’s why I was surprised when I heard about your… Money troubles,” the man said and Peter decided to just observe the crook in silence for a moment. The story Neumann was fed, was a nice way for Peter’s alias to swiftly gain the man’s confidence. Or in other words, to make Neumann believe that _Peter Morris_ would make an easily controlled ally. Useful in whatever schemes the criminal was working on.

“Well, what can I say,” Peter shrugged, while casually referencing his supposed gambling habits. “Lady Luck is a fickle mistress.”

Even in the face of the man’s uproarious laughter Peter’s smile remained small and reserved. He watched as his target finished the last of his whiskey, slammed the glass on the table and reached for a new cigar.

“Maybe I could help a little with that,” he offered offhandedly.

“Oh?” Putting away his glass, still half-full, Peter cocked his eyebrow at the man. It was a bad practice to drink while on the job, but sometimes with assignments like that one, one simply had no choice. If Peter Morris was a gambler, it was expected he would also be a heavy drinker. Above all else the cover had to stick.

“You know the Russian proverb _doveryáy, no proveryáy_?” the man asked and Peter raised his eyebrow at the almost perfect Russian accent. Now, that was interesting, and definitely something to add to the crook’s file later on.

“Trust, but verify?” Neumann nodded and when Peter became certain the man would not say anything else without prompting, he asked. “Why? You have someone you need to verify?”

Neumann laughed. “Oh, Peter, when you are me you have only too many people like that. This particular one though… He’s very slick. Ever met Matthew Keller?”

“No,” Peter shook his head. “I heard of him of course. He’s got quite a reputation.”

“Oh, yes. Reputation. He’s as good of a conman as the tales tell him to be,” the man laughed and Peter allowed a small frown to enter his face. “Maybe too good for his own good,” Neumann added, then locked his eyes with Peter’s. “But I need him and I wonder… You wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on him while he gets on with his job, would you?”

“You think there might be problems?” Peter asked, his satisfaction was hidden behind a well-trained mask. Neumann had no idea how glad he would be to help keep an eye on Keller.

“I don’t know…” unaware of Peter’s thoughts, his target shrugged and then poured himself another glass. “But you cannot just trust, can you?” he asked.

“No, of course you cannot,” Peter agreed with a smile. Then, they clicked their glasses.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Boss, you’re on fire,” were the words that welcomed Peter just as he entered the van. Not able to keep a smile off his face, he nodded to Diana. She was absolutely right. Getting Keller into custody could be a matter of days. He accepted the coffee from Jones, then sat by his side.

“How’s the bug?” He asked, taking the headphone set from Smith. He wished he could have planted more than two bugs in the office, but even two bugs, if not found, could provide them with more incriminating data than they would ever need in any court to pin Neumann down. After he pulled off that heist, of course.

“Loud and clear, we’ll have ears on him 24/7,” Diana answered and Peter nodded in approval. Right now, he could not hear any sounds except for the classical music playing in the background.

“All right,” he got up from the chair. “Keep me posted and stick to the shift schedule. We all need to be fresh and ready whenever Neumann decides to move on with the plans.”

After his agents had nodded, Peter, finishing his black, still steaming coffee, got up. He had a lunch with Elizabeth to attend to. A lunch that… Closing the door of the van behind himself, Peter sighed. A lunch filled with them finding new ways to search for their missing dog.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Douglas,” the familiar voice in her headphones made Diana almost choke on her coffee.

“Is that―” she started to say only to get interrupted by Jones.

“Keller!” he confirmed her suspicions. She watched him turn on the recording button, so that they could send the overheard conversation to Peter as quickly as possible.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“What a fine study…” Douglas Neumann remarked, admiring the sculpture. “You know, Fancelli is my favourite artist. “ _Statua di Vulcano…”_ the man continued, circling around the sculpture, then turned his gaze at Matthew. “You’re sure it’s a real thing?”

“Otherwise I would not have brought it to you,” he lied smoothly.

“Something like that…” the man said, turning again to look at the ‘masterpiece’. It really was one of the finest works the kid had done for Matthew. Somehow, until now, he had not fully realized how gifted the sculptor Georgie was. Also, the kid’s idea to hide the drill driver inside the study of Vulcan was brilliant. That way Douglas, in love with Georgie’s work, would take the sculpture straight to his office, conveniently doing half of the work for them. The topic Georgie had chosen to forge also did help a great deal, since the Vulcan already came in with a hammer. A handy tool that could be used to crush the sculpture’s innards in order to get to the drill. Then, all that would remain to do was to crack the safe and the music box was going to be Matthew’s. Finally. After all those years of chasing after it, wondering whether or not it was just a myth, a legend… It would be his. “Listen, Matthew, I have a small favour to ask of you,” the words brought Matthew back to reality. He turned his gaze to Douglas.

“Yes?”

“I need you to accelerate those plans we’ve been discussing earlier. I want the paintings stolen before the party,” the man said and it took all the self-control Matthew had to hide his grimace **.** He had hoped he would be able to stall long enough not to have to complete that particular job. It required a crew, and until then Matthew had taken great care to keep his crew away from Douglas’ business. He had no intentions of sharing the treasure with anyone.

“Why the rush?” Matthew asked, sipping on the whiskey and trying to hide his frustration. The party was supposed to take place next week, Douglas could wait.

“I have my reasons,” the man shrugged, then cocked his eyebrow at him. “What? I thought you had all of the plans in place already?”

“Plans yes, the crew - no.”

“Oh, the crew, yes,” Douglas said with a weird flicker in his eyes. “That reminds me…” Matthew watched him fish a photograph out of his pocket and then show it to him.

“Damn,” Matthew grimaced, unable to keep the curse to himself. Damn that kid. He told him to be careful when casing out the area around the mansion. Then again, it was not like Georgie to be caught red-handed like that. Maybe Neumann was looking more closely into Matthew’s business than he suspected.

“Any particular reason for your kid to be so interested in me? Because it is your kid, right?” The man narrowed his eyes at him. Because it is your kid, isn’t it?

“He’s my little tool, yes,” Matthew sighed, then glared back at Douglas. “Mine being a key word, Douglas. You mess with him, you mess with me.”

“It looks like right now he’s trying to mess with me,” the man answered, his frown deepening.

“It has nothing to do with you,” Keller shrugged, trying to sound indifferent. “He’s just not very big on the rules, that’s all. He probably followed me here, wondering where I was disappearing day after day.”

“That would have been very sloppy of you. After all, he’s just a kid,” Douglas stated, his voice was dry. Just before Matthew was about to protest, he stopped himself. An interesting idea popped into his head. Maybe the change of plans could turn out to be for the best. If he played his cards right…

“He looks like a kid, yes, but really, he’s a little devil, trust me,” he said, then chuckled. “In fact, if you wish it so, you can have a show of those skills of his on Thursday, when we get on with your plan.”

“Oh?” the man smirked, his eyes were thoughtful, as if uncertain whether or not Matthew was joking.

“He can steal the paintings, yes,” Matthew laughed. “He’s in fact quite good at it.”

“And you would trust him with the heist?”

“Of course, little Georgie likes to show off,” Matthew smiled. “Still, that leaves me three people short. But don’t worry, I’ll think of someone―”

“Two,” the man interrupted him.

“Oh?” Matthew asked. Now, why was that?

“You’ll take Peter Morris, a trusted accomplice of mine.” The name did not ring a bell and Matthew narrowed his eyes at Douglas. Since when did Douglas start having such big trouble trusting him?

“I like the crews to be mine,” he disagreed.

“You can trust Peter, I’ve known him for years,” the man said.

Not possible, Keller thought. He had cased Douglas out very carefully before approaching him. The name Peter Morris did not sound familiar. Maybe they had known each other for years, maybe not. One thing was certain though, Morris could not have been a close friend of Douglas. And that was almost as worrying as the fact that the man did not trust Matthew to do the job on his own.

“I don’t need your man,” he said, deciding to challenge Douglas. “Unless… _You_ need him. To keep an eye on me, perhaps?”

“Maybe _you_ need to keep an eye on that Georgie of yours.” Matthew was surprised by the personal attack. The fact that Douglas wanted him to take the attack personally was funny, to be honest. He could not care less for the kid. In his mind, Georgie really was just a tool. The only reason he was protective of the boy was because of his usefulness, after all what use there would be for a tool if someone else broke it? Or worse, took it?

“This really is about the kid?” Matthew asked, cocking his eyebrow at the man. “That’s one of the stupidest reasons I have ever heard. Maybe you turned informant, huh? Maybe that Peter bloke is a fed?”

Accusing each other of turning informant was a very common practice among thieves. It was suspicious when a person you were talking to did not accuse you of that. All in all, Matthew was not very surprised when he saw how little impression his words did have on Douglas, who just continued to sip his wine.

“With the kid being your tool, it has to be about you, doesn’t it?” he shrugged.

“What do you mean by that?” Matthew asked, raising from the chair.

“I mean… That I don’t trust you.”

Matthew chuckled. “Obviously,” he said, then sighed. “What I don’t understand is why?”

“Because, as I’ve recently learned, you did stab in the back before.”

Now, that was a serious accusation. “What are you talking―”

“Rey Roland, rings a bell?”

_Shit,_ keeping his expression cool, Matthew cursed silently. Of course it had to be about Rey Roland. Apparently, his name would haunt him not only where Georgie was meant. The only reason he went after Roland was because he had thought the man had the music box. His info turned out to be wrong, but now the consequences of his actions meant he had to apologize occasionally and reassure Georgie that nothing like that kidnapping would ever happen to the brat again. He had nearly lost the kid. Or at least his use as a tool.

“I see it does…” Douglas commented on Matthew’s silence and then sighed. “Look, Matthew, it’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s… You know that Russian proverb, right?”

“Trust by verify?” Matthew’s tone was dry.

“ _Doveryáy, no proveryáy_ ” the man confirmed in a surprisingly good Russian.

“All right, I get it,” Matthew sighed, putting the glass away on the table. “That I get it, does not mean I understand it. You’re wrong, but… Whatever. You want my crew to have a babysitter, fine. Make sure it is a one-time thing, though. Next time I will not tolerate you messing with my crew like that.”

“I understand,” the man nodded and Matthew snorted. He took back his abandoned seat. Very soon, the bastard would regret giving him that ultimatum. Georgie and his burglar skills were to ensure that.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Lucky The Nameless, meet Satchmo The Nameless. Your new brother,” Neal introduces the dogs to each other joyfully. “Vincent is also here, but let’s ignore him for now, ok? He’s in a bad mood,” he advises the puppy. Ever since he met the new stray, Neal has had to keep on ignoring Vincent’s numerous dry comments about how one dog is enough.

_It’s going to end badly. It’s a surprise Mister Keller still hasn’t found out about that one and now, what, you are bringing another…_ The cat growls. _One month more and there will be as many dogs here as there are cats on your balcony right now._

_And wouldn’t it be wonderful!_ Satch asks, happily licking the snout of his newly adopted brother.

“It would!” Neal agrees, then turns to glare at Vincent. “You have your friends, now I have mine. What’s wrong with that?”

Vincent meows. _What’s wrong is that Mister Keller has exclusively forbidden you to have friends here. Have you forgotten how you would be too afraid to let me in after the last time…_

“But now I do let you in and you do come in, don’t you! When it’s you who gets the VIP treatment it’s ok, but when Lucky The Nameless here―”

_―_ _Being kicked in the spine is hardly a VIP treatment, Neal!_ The cat growls and Neal immediately finds himself feeling guilty.

“Vincent…”

_No! You’re being careless, when you know the last thing you can afford is carelessness. Have you even thought about what will happen to those two when Mister Keller finds out? He might spare you, but what about us, huh? Have you thought about that!_

Pursing tight his lips, Neal does not answer. He shakes his head. No, Vincent has to be wrong. Nothing like that is ever going to happen again. He was being sloppy back then. He is not going to be sloppy now. It is different. It has to be different. It… Feeling sad, Neal hugs his legs close to his chest. Those are his dogs and he has promised to protect them. He is going to keep that promise. Can Vincent not see that the workshop is a far better place than a street for a stray? Can he not see how happy the dogs make Neal feel?

“You disappear all the time and I don’t know where you are…” Neal whispers, feeling tears in his eyes. “You’re like mum. It’s not in your nature to stay in one place for too long.”

At the mention of Neal’s mum, suddenly feeling sad instead of angry, Vincent stays silent.

“Dogs are not like that. I always know where Satchmo is. He’s here, waiting for me,” Neal continues, feeling a lump in his throat.

There is even more silence. Neal rubs his eyes. Life is so difficult to manage, sometimes.

_You’re not going to leave me, are you_ , Lucky speaks into the silence, his voice is a quiet whimper. Neal strongly shakes his head.

“No,” he says, unclipping the pup’s collar. He tosses it away as if it were cursed. “The adults might have kicked you out, they might have not wanted you, but we…” he gestures to himself, Satchmo and Vincent. “We are not like that.”

The puppy starts to chew on Neal’s hand in response. Neal picks him up and snuggles him close to his chest. “I’ll never kick you out,” he repeats the promise strongly, and then, as Satchmo unexpectedly decides to join their embrace, Neal chuckles. The dog licks his face. Letting himself feel the warmth of the two wonderful creatures by his side, Neal closes his eyes.

_We’re going to be together forever_ , Neal hears Satchmo’s quiet, reassuring whine. He yawns. He is feeling so tired. It is a wonderful thing that today he does not have any more responsibilities to take care of for Mister Keller. He lets Lucky go and still lost in dreamy thoughts lies down on the floor and snuggles his face in Satchmo’s fur. He is just about to start falling asleep when his ears are subjected to the obnoxiously loud ringing. Immediately Neal opens his eyes wide.

It sounds like Mister Keller’s emergency line.

Quickly, he jumps to his feet and grabs the phone from the table where all the studies of Vulcan are still scattered around. He has almost not finished it for Mister Keller’s last deadline.

_All because of you being distracted by the dogs,_ Vincent remarks.

“Oh just shut up!” Neal shoots back and then immediately regrets it as he realizes who else has had to have heard him.

“…Sorry?” Mister Keller’s tone is dry.

“I’m sorry! I haven’t been talking to you, sir!” Neal rushes in with an explanation.

“I gather. To whom then, have you been talking?”

“It’s… It’s complicated,” feeling heat in his face, Neal mumbles.

“Too complicated for you to explain?”

“…I kind of have been talking to myself, sir” he admits uneasily after a moment or two.

“Telling yourself to shut up?”

“Yeah, cause I knew you would have something important to tell me?” He chooses his tone very carefully and frames the answer to sound more like a question – a sheepish one, one that makes the adults laugh. Neal feels relief when, after a short pause, Mister Keller does indeed snort.

“Good enough. I’ll drop by the workshop in an hour. Better be there,” the adult says and before Neal can confirm or deny, Mister Keller hangs up.

_Now… What was that all about?_ Satchmo asks and Neal finds himself shrugging his ignorance.

_He does not know. What he does however realize, is that you two need to hide now. Hide or be kicked in the spine,_ Vincent says and Neal shoots a glare at the cat.

“I’ll have to hide you along with those two, you realize that? Or kick you outside.”

_Do not dare to kick me outside!_

“Well, then go to the room with Satch and Lucky.” They lock eyes with each other.

_…Fine,_ after a moment of strained silence passes, Neal’s friend finally capitulates. _But you’ll carry me, I’m feeling too sleepy now to walk on my own,_ he adds keeping his eyes closed.

“Gladly!” Neal smiles taking the cat in his arms. Vincent starts to purr.

_Besides, you’d better clean up here. Mister Keller is going to be very unhappy if he sees this mess…_ The cat, nevertheless decides to remark and Neal rolls his eyes.

“Cats, right?” he asks Satchmo, who as he follows them into the room, barks in an amused confirmation. Once all three pets are inside, Neal locks the door with a smile.

“Just promise to be quiet, ok?” he asks them through the door and relaxes only when he hears three, unanimous promises. They all know how important it is for them to keep silent lest Mister Keller find out.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Half an hour later Neal finds himself sitting with his mentor and pouring him whiskey. “Thanks, kid,” the adult says, taking from Neal the offered glass. Now, this is a very uncommon word for Neal to hear. Curious to learn more, he takes his own seat, a cold glass of milk clutched in his hands. As the silence between them stretches, Neal feels his curiosity turning into something more like dread. He watches the man light the cigar, then sigh.

“Listen… There’s been a change of plans,” Mister Keller deadpans, confirming Neal’s worst suspicions. “The robbery will not take place during the party, instead… We’ll have to find a way for you to steal the music box during the heist.”

“What?” Not understanding what heist Mister Keller is talking about, Neal cocks his head. At that point Mister Keller fishes five photos of paintings out of his pocket and hands them to Neal.

“Do not get too excited. They’re all forgeries. Douglas wants his insurance money, so we need to steal them from him,” Mister Keller sighs, smoking his cigar.

“Oh…” Neal says. Now that is quite a common scheme. As always, when looking at forgeries Neal cannot help but feel a little bit sad. How is it, that one can paint as good as, or even better than the artist himself, and yet, as soon as the adults find out something is a forgery, its value suddenly drops from the estimated millions to a few measly bucks.

“I have planned the meeting for tomorrow. The heist will take place on Thursday. I’ll use Travis and Miller for this. And you, of course. But your task once inside the mansion will be a double one. Oh, and Georgie―”

“I’m not telling anyone about the music box, I know,” Neal says, then frowns deep in thought. “But why the rush, Mister Keller? Was it your or Mister Neumann’s initiative to―”

“A mutual decision,” the adult cuts him off. Neal is not sure whether he should believe him or not.

_You shouldn’t! Look how distressed he is,_ the hiss belongs to Vincent, but thankfully Neal manages to keep the cat’s opinion to himself. Mister Keller’s amber eyes are intent.

“There is also going to be a fifth person, Georgie. Peter Morris is Douglas’ trusted ally, he’ll be joining us.” Neal opens his mouth to protest, but Mister Keller shakes his head at him. “I don’t want to hear it. I promise to keep him away from you as much as I can. The rest you will just have to deal with.”

Neal, focusing his gaze on the glass, still held in his now white-knuckled hands, purses his lips. Why the rush? He glances up at the adult. Does Mister Keller realize there is a chance that Mister Neumann insisted on a change in plans because he got wind of their intentions on the music box? And what happens if Mister Keller is wrong about Mister Neumann not realizing its true value? What if all this heist is a trap they are just going to go into and…

“By the way, Douglas loved your study of Vulcan. He called it a masterpiece,” Mister Keller unexpectedly remarks. That gets Neal’s attention.

“Really?” he asks, his eyes are shining.

“Yeah. You did a great job on that sculpture,” his mentor smiles. “I would know.” Trying to hide his smile, Neal sips on his milk. His eyes remain locked with Mister Keller’s as the adult expounds on his plan. “Listen, kid. I’ll make it simple for you. Nothing we haven’t done before. First…” As Mister Keller continues his explanation, Neal cannot help but repeat over and over again the adult’s last words in his head.

_You did a great job._ Has Mister Keller ever told him such a thing? Surely not using these exact words and not with that smile. Neal would remember. _A true masterpiece._

_This is the most toothsome milk you have ever bought_ , Vincent meows and Neal can just agree. He thinks so too. He wonders whether the adult’s whiskey has ever tasted as good. Probably not. From Neal’s experiences whiskey can taste only bitter. It burns one’s throat. Which is not at all a pleasant feeling, whatever the fancy label and his mentor claim. Cats really do have a taste when it comes to drinking.

__

* * *

Next Sunday: **First Impressions**

_(Yes! Peter and Neal will finally meet!)_


	7. First Impressions

_“The Lord looked down from the holy heights,_   
_viewed the earth from heaven,_   
_To attend to the groaning of the prisoners,_   
_to release those doomed to die.”_   
_Psalms 102:20-21 (NABRE)_

Rubbing his eyes, Neal yawns. He feels tired. He has spent the night drawing Satchmo, Lucky and Vincent. He is quite happy with how some of those sketches have turned out. He plans to sketch some more after the meeting. For that purpose he has bought the dog anatomy book. He wants to do a thorough study on how the dog’s muscles move. Then, his sketches of Satchmo and Lucky will get even better.

_Woof! Woof! Woof!_ The barking makes Neal stop dead in his tracks. He has just passed a supermarket. In front of it is a Labrador dog. _Tied_ to a fence. The poor creature looks so much like Satchmo that he cannot remain indifferent. He squats by her side. Bella, as her tag names her, is very happy to see him. She first sniffs his hands, then licks them. He scratches her behind the ear. Why do adults keep doing that? Do they not realize it is no fun to be left alone on the street like that?

_Mummy!_ That whine is not hers but Lucky’s. In his imagination Neal can see the little puppy as it runs in circles around Satchmo. _Mummy! Neal, you’ve found my mummy!_

“Really?!” Neal asks, feeling his heart beat faster. He locks his eyes with Lucky’s mummy. It seems too good to be true.

_It is too good to be true. You just want another dog Neal and_ _―_

_Oh, quiet now,_ Satchmo shushes the cat. _She is Lucky’s mummy! I have no doubt about it._

Neal bites his lip. To be quite honest, raising a little puppy scares him. Satchmo does not know anything about kids and Vincent is scared of having another dog in the workshop. Maybe it will be better for Lucky to have a mummy and… “Bella The Nameless, welcome to our pack!” Neal tells Bella with a wide smile, untying her from the fence. “It’s an hour long walk from here, we can―”

Neal stops himself. _The meeting._ Mister Keller’s meeting is supposed to start within half an hour. If he goes back to the workshop now, he will never make it in time. Not knowing what to do, for a longer moment he just stares at Bella, who sniffs his hands. He scratches her behind the ear and she wags her tail. Making up his mind, Neal sighs. “Bella, I’m sorry but―”

_NO! DO NOT DARE TO ABANDON HER!_ The cry comes from Lucky and Neal feels even more confused. But what else can he do?! Lucky cannot possibly expect him to take Bella to the meeting!

“This is bad,” Neal whispers half to himself and half to the dog. She cocks her head at him and barks. Meeting her calm, motherly eyes Neal furrows his forehead. “You sure about it?”

Bella barks yet again.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Ten minutes later Neal is in a back alley three blocks away from the meeting place. Bella has agreed to wait for him here. He ties her to the drainpipe and kisses her on the top of her head. “Just be good, ok? I’ll be back,” Neal promises, and when she whines in response, he puts his arms around her tightly. “I will be back. And then we will go back home. And Lucky will have his mum,” he tells her. She responds by licking his face.

_Neal!_ The warning comes from Vincent. One moment Neal is snuggling with the dog, the next - he is back on his feet. He has sensed the same presence his cat has, only… It is already too late, he realizes, turning away from Bella and seeing who else besides him and the dog is in the back alley.

“Hello… Kid,” Travis Murphy says, closing the distance between them. His expression is unreadable and he has a dangerous glint in his eyes. “So, I heard Keller will be using you for this one. What a pity he has yet to realize how useless you are…” And then, to Neal’s dismay, Travis notices Bella’s presence. Neal watches the adult’s eyes flick to Lucky’s mum, then back to him. “Oh, you must be kidding,” the man snorts.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Loud and clear?” Peter asked into his broadcasting watch.

“Loud and clear,” Jones confirmed, putting on his headphones and starting the recording. “GPS signal is locked. What's the activation phrase?” his agent then asked, following the procedures.

“Long ride,” Peter answered, thinking it was doubtful he would be in need of backup. That day was supposed to be just a meeting before the heist. The day before _Peter Morris_ had met Keller. It was time for his alias to meet the rest of the gang face to face.

“You say _long ride_ and we'll be there,” Jones assured. Peter nodded, straightening his jacket. Then he faced his three trusted agents again.

“Well? Looking shady enough?” he asked them and they laughed.

“Outright despicable, boss,” Diana answered with a grin.

Peter grinned back. “Wish me good luck then,” he said.

“Good luck!” his agents said, and with that, Peter closed the door of the van. They had parked it within twenty minute walking distance from the criminals’ meeting place. Looking at his watch, Peter could see he was going to be early. Good, he thought. That might just give him time to get to know some of Keller’s people better.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Peter was approximately ten minutes from the meeting place when a movement on his right caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks and frowned as he looked down a small alley. What he saw, looked like the kind of an ugly family fight, which must have been quite common in such a neighbourhood, only… Wasn’t that Travis Murphy? Squinting his eyes, he tried to make out the man’s face. It must have been.

Peter had spent the last couple of weeks studying all the intel FBI had on Keller and Travis Murphy had long been suspected of being one of Keller’s closest associates. Ever since Keller’s activities had grown less violent, they seemed to work together less frequently, but if that was indeed Travis… Then who was that kid he was taunting?

Deciding he still had some time to investigate, Peter turned into the alley.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Hey, that’s mine!” Neal protests as his backpack is roughly taken away from him. He does not dare to do anything else, though. As the adult starts to rummage through his things, Neal can just watch.

“Well, what do we have here? Oh, an ID… How nice. And I see you’ve swiped a few wallets too, huh? And what’s this!” The man laughs. “Dog anatomy book, seriously…” He opens one of the wallets and fishes two hundred bucks out of it. “I’ll take this,” he decides. “And this,” he pockets the credit cards. “Oh, and what do we have here…”

“Hey, man. What seems to be the problem?” The words come as a surprise to both Neal and Travis. A tall, brown-haired stranger stops by Travis’s side.

“I don’t know man, you tell me,” Travis laughs, throwing the backpack on the ground and turning to face the man. “Because whatever is, it’s none of your business, now, is it?”

The stranger does not answer at first, his gaze shifting for a moment from Travis to Neal, then finally to Neal’s backpack and valuables scattered on the ground.

“Or maybe it is,” he then says, before, weirdly enough, he holds out his hand as if to greet Travis. “We were supposed to meet today, Peter Morris.”

“Oh…” Travis says, eyeing the man suspiciously. Then, with only a slight hesitation, he shakes the man’s hand. Neal just purses his lips. As if things could get any worse. So this is Peter Morris, their crew’s babysitter. “Travis Murphy.”

“My pleasure,” Mister Morris continues, smiling pleasantly, then gestures carelessly at Neal, his dog and his stuff. “So, what’s all this? I thought we were after the big fish.”

“And so we are,” Neal answers instead of Travis, then kneels to gather his scattered possessions. It is better for the stranger to realize Neal is one of them now, than to have Travis do the introductions for him. He stands up from the ground and locks his eyes with Neumann’s man. “Travis here, just likes to bully, sir.”

“Oh, but you give me every reason to,” Travis replies with a huff. “Wait till Keller learns you brought your dog to the meeting.”

“It’s not my dog,” Neal protests, turning to look at Travis.

“Oh, it’s not?” Travis chuckles. “Then I guess you would not mind if I do this―” He never makes that kick. Peter Morris does not let him. “What the hell man! Get your hands off me, I don’t―”

“Listen to me now.” Neal has never heard such a cold voice. “Because I’m not going to repeat myself. You kick that dog and you’re dead. We both know what I’m here for and it is to keep an eye on you all. You don’t want to make this hard for me, now, do you?”

Watching the two adults, Neal decides, that if he were to bet who is going to win this fight, his money would be on Mister Morris. Not only does he look stronger, he is also much better collected than Travis. He looks healthier, as well. Definitely not a drug addict. Neal watches as the man finally lets Travis go.

“Now, I’ve asked you a question. What is it exactly, that you have been doing here?” he again asks politely, the coldness from his expression is all gone. Now, this is very scary.

Travis glares at him for a longer moment, but then, finally, he gives in. Shrugging his shoulders, he fishes out a cig from his pocket and lights it. “Teaching this brat a lesson,” he mutters.

“I see. And what would that lesson be?”

Travis laughs. “You want to know what the lesson is, fine. I’ll tell you what the lesson is here. _This_ ,” he gestures at Neal, “only brings trouble. Last time I had to work with him, I nearly died. Why, you ask? The kid spotted a kitty on a rooftop and instead of sticking to the plan like a good kid should, he decided that, no, he knows better and the poor kitten… _Needs saving_. Cost me a bullet right through my thigh.”

“Now, that’s just bullshit,” Neal says, interrupting the story. “The only reason last time went so bad, was because you were late. I was on time and you―”

“SHUT UP!” Already predicting the coming punch, Neal ducks. He glares at the adult in hatred, but it is again Peter Morris who puts an end to it by grabbing Travis’s arm. He looks confused.

“What? The kid’s seriously with us?” he demands and Travis chuckles. Zipping the backpack and throwing it over his arm, Neal just rolls his eyes. He then turns to glare at Travis.

“You tell Mister Keller about the dog and I’ll tell him about all those other times you screwed up,” he states coldly, then reaches out to the man’s pocket to take a pack of cigs away from him. He then takes one, puts it in his mouth and lights it. “Or about that tweak you carry in your pocket. Now, you wouldn’t like that, would you, _sir_?”

“Screw you,” Travis curses, before shrugging off Peter Morris’s hold on him. The man, still looking a bit dumbfounded, lets him go. They watch Travis turn and then walk out of the alley. Looking up at Peter Morris, Neal offers him the pack he has taken from Travis.

“Want one, sir?” he asks lightly.

“How old are you?” the adult asks with a frown and Neal sighs. He pockets the pack of cigs along with the lighter. He is probably going to throw it all away later in the day, anyway. He hates to pretend he likes smoking almost as much as he hates all those other times, when the adults forced him to try and drink alcohol.

“Old enough to know how to read the clock, sir,” Neal says, gesturing to Mister Morris’s watch. He is right of course. There are only five minutes left till the meeting. Peter Morris seems to notice that too. Blowing out smoke, Neal watches the adult join him on his side as they walk in the direction Travis has previously disappeared into. They continue walking in silence until they reach the warehouse.

“You should be more careful with whom you pick your fights, kid,” Peter Morris unexpectedly says. “He had a gun.”

“Yeah, _I know_. You all do.” Neal scrunches up his nose, before pushing the door open.

He steps aside to let the adult come in first. “No mat to say _‘welcome’,_ but I’m sure Mister Keller will be more than happy to see you joining us today, sir.” Neal honestly doubts it. No one likes babysitters, especially when they get forced on you by your associate.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Following the pre-teen boy into the basement of the old building, Peter could not help feeling that it was all part of some bizarre nightmare. One in which he would be forced to watch the kid before him die from bullets of whoever was waiting for them downstairs.

Peter cringed inside, recalling the recorded conversation from Neumann’s office. Despite the use of the word ‘kid’ and Keller’s weird protectiveness over ‘his little tool’, as he had called the boy, it did not occur to Peter that the criminal the two men had been talking about would be a minor, literally ‘kid’. He had been expecting a young adult if anything, not a _primary school child_. But then, despite the kid not having introduced himself, Peter was positive that who he had just met, was none other than George, or rather _Georgie_ , as Keller had called him.

Child-abuse was one of the crimes that most infuriated Peter. Coming to the end of the steps, Peter forced himself to take a deep breath and keep a lid on that righteous anger boiling within him. Lashing out would help neither the FBI, nor him, nor the boy. Right that moment, more than ever, he had to focus on collecting enough evidence to put Keller behind bars. _What a sick sociopathic bastard… His little tool, indeed!_

Downstairs, a grim looking, muscular man was waiting for them. One, whom George seemed to know. Hiding his anger behind a mask of indifference, Peter watched the boy bump fists with the shady character.

“Yo, Mil, what’s up?” the child asked, the same smile on his face that he had given Peter earlier offering him a cigarette.

“Be careful G, Travis’s pissed off,” the man answered in a similar light tone, his eyes locked on Peter, not the boy. Taking in the man’s face, Peter recognized another criminal whom the FBI suspected of being part of Keller’s crew. Eric Miller’s hallmark was a scar running across the right side of his face, all the way from his forehead down to his chin. A little souvenir from his time in prison. The tattoos that he had acquired there were temporarily hidden from everyone’s sight.

“You know me,” the little boy told the convicted murderer with a slight shrug. “I’m always careful.”

“Yeah, sure,” the man grunted, still frowning at Peter. “And you are?”

“Peter Morris,” Peter answered, offering the man his hand. Miller’s grip was a firm one.

“Fantastic,” the man snorted, not letting go of his hand. For a slight moment his gaze flicked to the boy, who was curiously observing them. _Georgie_ , or _G_ , must have understood the message because after a moment Peter watched the boy turn away from them and with a slight shrug trot down the corridor Miller was guarding. Only after the boy had left, did the man speak again. “I don’t care who you are, our kid’s off limits. You touch him, you’re as good as dead. Understand?”

“As long as he does his job right, I don’t care.” Peter nodded, wondering how numerous was the ‘we’ the crook was referencing. How was it possible for the hardened criminals to trust anything to a child? And if the kid was indeed under their protection, how was it that Travis could shove him around like that?

“Great, I’m Miller then.” The man smiled, then gestured for Peter to give him his gun. Uneasily, Peter complied, such measures were to be expected. After the pat-down, the man gestured him to the scruffy, dimly-lit corridor.“After you.”

At the end of it, a familiar face was waiting for them. Matthew Keller’s expression was reserved as he silently watched Peter approaching, smoking a cigar. As Peter stopped, from behind him he heard the sound of a glass shard being crushed by a heavy boot. “He’s clean,” the criminal informed Keller, before entering the room himself.

“Welcome, Peter,” Keller said, a pleasant smile entering his lips.

“Matthew,” Peter shook the man’s hand, then followed Miller inside.

The neat and well-furnished interior of the room contrasted with the inglorious look of the corridor, but that of course, Peter knew, was the point. The two main characteristics of the criminal liars were, first, that they were put together in haste, ready to be abandoned the moment the FBI closed in, and second, that they were mostly located in neighbourhoods that most people would avoid. With the rising amount of monitoring in public spaces, choosing a discreet location was not easy. Keller had done a great job with the current one.

As the man handed him a glass of whiskey, Peter nodded his thanks. Then, he crossed the space to sit in the armchair on the left of Travis and across from the little boy. Relieved, he noted that the kid was not sipping on any alcohol, instead, in his hands was a can of coke. As he sat, Peter could feel Travis’s hateful glare boring into his skull. Previously, the bully’s full attention seemed to be solely on the child. Looking to his right, he returned the criminals gaze and the man looked away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw something like relief on George’s face, then the boy smiled, resting his sneakers on the table and taking a long sip from the can. Clearly, being in the company of murders, long-timers and burglars, was something he was familiar with. The hardest thing for Peter was to turn his gaze away from the child and focus it back on Keller. No instructor had ever told him that he might encounter a situation like that.

Juvenile offenders existed, yes, many of them engaged in numerous violent crimes, he was aware of that. As an FBI agent, however, he barely, if ever, had to deal with minors. He worked in the White Collar division, not in the Violent Crimes. And even during his time in the Violent Crimes division, he had worked on only a couple of cases where minors had been involved in a role of an offender. The reason for that was simple enough. The crimes committed by kids, even gang members, were usually just too minor to fall into the FBI’s jurisdiction. They let the police deal with them. And yet, there he was, sitting across from the juvenile who, in appearance, might not have been more than fourteen. About to steal twenty million worth of forgeries.

Peter was conscious of the fact that all the men present would get at least ten years for that. Neumann, who had planned the heist to get the insurance money, was going down too. But what about George? How would the court see his involvement with the criminals? He was a minor, so clearly, in a way he was also a victim of Keller’s manipulations. Still, a grand theft was a grand theft, and so, if the boy had no relatives to take care of him and promise to keep him straight, the judge would decide against his favour. Even with the relatives around, Peter doubted the boy could avoid being incarcerated. No, just like his criminal ‘guardians’, he would have to serve time. What was unknown was for how long and also… Also, whether or not it would be in a juvenile prison or in…

“Since we’re all here, how about we start,” Keller’s statement put an end to Peter’s distraught thoughts. Firmly deciding to abandon all the speculations about the boy’s fate, Peter turned his full attention back to Keller, while still keeping an eye on the other crooks around him. He felt that every criminal in the room was doing pretty much the same. The only difference was George, whose eyes, as he gazed at Keller, did not stop shining even for a moment with that heart-breaking admiration from someone young, inexperienced and craving for someone’s attention. Peter realized that at least half of that impression of the boy could only be in his imagination, and yet… No. Even if one could not infer from a person’s body language that much, Peter knew that was exactly what was going on. It was a classic example of an experienced criminal manipulating his more vulnerable young associate into doing his bidding. He just hoped that the measures Keller had taken to maintain that particular loyalty were not as extreme and hideous as in some cases Peter had seen.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Listening to Mister Keller, Neal quietly drums his fingers against his knee. He decides that, despite the last minute notice, he rather likes his mentor’s plan. Its initial steps are simple enough.

Officially, their target consists of five paintings. They will cut three of them out of their frames, the other two _‘their client’_ requested to be stolen in one piece. Mister Keller, with help from Mil, will do the cutting, Mister Morris will stand guard. Then all four of them will be gone. Travis will be waiting for them in a getaway car.

Neal’s task will be to shut all the cameras and motion detectors. In order to do that, as usual, he will take a route inaccessible to the adults - a ventilation system only someone as small as he could fit into. Then, he will give a signal for the crew to move in and the show Mister Keller has planned will really begin. Because, contrary to what Mister Keller has said here, Neal will not go back once the security system has been disabled, he knows this is not really what his mentor wants him to do. Now thinking of that second part of the plan, deliberately omitted by Mister Keller, makes Neal a bit worried.

After disabling the security system, Neal will crawl back into the ductwork. This time with a new target in mind - the music box locked in a triple-walled, case-hardened steel 1943 mckinzie. It will be Neal’s responsibility to carry the bulky thing out of the office. If nothing goes wrong, Mister Keller will meet Neal on his way back. If something does go wrong, however… Well. That is exactly the reason, why his mentor always has two or three back-up plans close at hand. Mister Keller believes that if this happens, Neal, despite the heavy music box, will be able to independently reach their rendezvous point. Despite his mentor’s confidence, he is not so sure if he agrees with him. During the day, and with no one suspecting a thing, yes, he thinks, he could. But during the night, and with Mister Keller’s associate knowing about the heist…

Drumming his fingers against his knee, Neal turns his quizzical gaze at their group’s babysitter. In his mind his presence should have been a clear red flag for his mentor. A sign that Mister Neumann does not trust Mister Keller as much as he used to. A sign that their heist will be watched much closer than his mentor took into account in his plans. And, if indeed that turns out to be the case… Neal might manage to reach the office, maybe even manage to go outside… But who is to say he will make it any further than that? Who is to say Mister Neumann’s men won’t be waiting for them outside? And, if he does end up alone, without Mister Keller by his side, it will mean that, just like a year ago, he will be completely at the mercy of strangers.

_But he did come for you the last time, didn’t he?_ Satchmo comments and it makes Neal smile. It is true. Mister Keller did come for him. He did not leave him.

_Neither did he leave that mysterious letter he was initially after. I mean, remember that story Travis once told you? He said_ _―_

“I think it’s going to work,” afraid to let Vincent finish his thought, Neal interrupts both him and Mister Keller. The adult does not seem to be any happier with the intrusion than the cat.

“Really?” he asks him dryly and within the corner of his eye Neal notices Mil cracking a smile at that. Travis just glares at him, while Mister Morris’s expression remains unreadable. There is something very hard in those eyes, though. Something Neal does not like.

“Yep,” he nevertheless nods enthusiastically, then points to the mansion plans spread out on the table. “I have a question though, about those two paintings that are to stay intact. It’s a security system FX100, right?” Mister Keller nods. “This means that disabling security by me won’t help you much with this particular task. You’ll still need to find a panel and do it yourself, unless…” Neal taps the schematics with a finger. Then, he meets Mister Keller’s gaze. “Unless I make a quick stop here and―”

“No, you’re to go straight to that security room.” Mister Keller interrupts him and Neal shuts his mouth. “Sightseeing you can do some other time,” the adult adds and Neal hears Mil snort. He himself decides to stay silent. The room where the paintings are located is not too far from the route he has to take in order to get to the security room, so in his opinion it would really not hurt anyone if he went there to take a peek at the supposed forgeries, but… But obviously, he is wrong to think that.

“Any other interruptions?” Mister Keller asks, and when no one speaks, he continues to explain the plan. Sipping on a coke, Neal starts to drum his fingers against his knee again. Yeah, he once more decides. Mister Keller’s plan is a good one. In fact, if he were kept ignorant about what is happening behind the scenes between Mister Keller and Mister Neumann, he would probably be overly excited to get on with the heist. Even with the uncomfortable knowledge of the plan in the plan, he can still feel the familiar restlessness in his bones. It is amazing that of all the people, of all the _adults_ that Mister Keller could choose for the task, it is him, Neal Ca…Ce… Neal C-something that the adult chose. Neal thinks that two years ago he was very lucky to stumble upon someone like Mister Keller - the first adult he had ever met who was actually willing to give him a real chance.

* * *

Next Sunday: **Thick as Thieves**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smoking cigarettes is harmful. Peter was undercover, that is why he allowed a kid to smoke. Also, I think he was still in shock.


	8. Thick as Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your feedback, you keep this story going! 
> 
> <https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41678/first-impressions/>
> 
> (Also, I updated chapter 6 to add an illustration of Neal’s crew!)
> 
> I hope the chapter will be fun to read. :3

_"Defend the lowly and fatherless;  
render justice to the afflicted and needy.  
Rescue the lowly and poor;  
deliver them from the hand of the wicked."  
Psalm 82:3-4 (NABRE)_

“…That’s our rendezvous. I want everyone there at 1AM sharp. Any questions?” Matthew made a point to make eye contact with each and every one of his crew. From Travis, whom he trusted even less than Morris, to the kid who…

Who was fiddling with a can of coke and did not notice Matthew’s gaze. Only after Miller elbowed his side did Georgie look up. His expression was a bit startled, but his eyes, as always, were almost laughing.

“Sounds awesome, sir!” he smiled at Matthew, putting away the empty can. Hearing the boy, Travis snorted with obvious contempt. Matthew had watched the antagonism between the two grow for several months and purposely had done nothing to stop it. At first, leaving trash like Travis in the group was a test of character for the kid. Watching them interact amused Matthew. Lately it had ceased to be just a game to him, though. He started to see a greater purpose in it. He needed all crew members to be oblivious to the one time when Georgie would intentionally screw up. It would happen during tomorrow’s getaway from the mansion. The kid, supposedly out of fear of Travis, instead of joining them in the car, would run away on his own. The setup was perfect. No one would be surprised by Georgie’s last-minute screw-up. Not Miller, who had lately hinted Matthew should get Travis under control. Probably not even Peter Morris, who, judging by the glare he had shot Travis earlier, already recognized the bungler for the trash he was.

“You haven’t been listening, so of course it does,” their getaway driver teased, focusing his spiteful gaze on the boy. In response, George shot Travis a look and nonchalantly placed his sneakers on the table. And then the kid had to open his big mouth.

“At least I won’t be late,” he snorted, throwing the can of coke above his head and catching it mid-air. Then he looked back at Travis with an expression of superiority. “Unlike some people―”

Surprisingly, neither Matthew nor Miller reacted the quickest. Instead, it was Peter Morris who was there to throw Travis off balance the moment their getaway driver lunged at Georgie.

It was over in an instant.

With precise movements Morris trapped the brute against the table. As his hands got twisted behind his back, Travis hissed in both pain and surprise. The knife fell from his fingers. Seeing the weapon, Matthew shot a glare at Miller. He noticed that his underling managed to get the startled kid behind himself. Good. It seemed that the man was not entirely useless, after all.

“You would seriously kill me for that?” Georgie whispered into the momentary silence. He was not looking cocky anymore. Instead, his eyes were unnaturally wide in his pale face.

Just great, Matthew thought as Travis started cursing. As if Douglas’s schemes had not changed his plans drastically enough, it seemed that he might either have to find a new driver or spend an inordinate amount of time making sure his old one was behaving. _Fantastic._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Georgie, you’re such a pain in the ass!” Keller’s anger was focused solely on the would-be-victim instead of on the would-be-murderer. Till, as Travis continued to spew a stream of foul curses at all of them, the man’s anger boiled over.

Before Peter could intervene, Keller shoved him out of the way, grabbed the immobilized crook and crashed his head against the table. Suddenly limp, Travis tumbled to the ground.

Keller’s mouth twisted in distaste. “There. That’s better.”

Peter felt tense. The boy was still protectively tucked behind Miller, too far away to grab and run in case it all went to hell. Peter watched Keller cross his way to the cabinet in the corner, pour himself a glass of whiskey, and then, with a soft curse, guzzle it in one go.

“Stay put, G,” Miller said, letting go of the boy’s shoulder. He made his way over to Travis’s prone form lying beside the table. After checking the man’s pulse, Miller made sure his associate had no more concealed weapons with him.

Meanwhile, Peter had taken a step towards the child, who still kept his terrified eyes on the unconscious man. Just one more and he would be close enough to drag the boy through the door and onto the corridor. If only… _Oh, come on!_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal is distracted. His heart is still beating wildly in his chest. As he watches Mil searching through Travis’s pockets, the movement on his right finally registers and… “Shit,” the curse slips out. First Travis, and now this Neumann’s guy! He does not understand why both of them seem to hate him so much. Why won’t they leave him alone, already?!

Neal does not think. He jumps over the couch to get as far away as he can from Morris, then hastily takes cover between Mil and Mister Keller. Noticing a sudden movement, his mentor turns to glare at him.

“What now―” Mister Keller starts to speak only to stop. He narrows his eyes and turns to Peter Morris, who has frozen mid-step, as though surprised by the escape of his quarry. Neal watches his mentor purse his lips. “You want something from Georgie, huh?” the accusation comes and, weirdly enough, despite his irked tone, Mister Morris’ words sound reasonable when he answers.

“I want you to tell me how you will get your man under control,” he says sternly. Hearing this, Neal turns to look at Mister Keller. He is curious about it himself.

“He is already handled,” Mister Keller sneers, gesturing to Travis lying on the floor. Then, his eyes grow cold. Neal is happy it is not him with whom his mentor is angry. “I made sure of that.”

“He’s almost done with your kid,” comes Morris’ reply and… Neal hates the adult for saying that. _No, no, no, don’t make this discussion about me_ , he hears Vincent’s snarl. But it is already too late.

“Exactly, _my_ kid,” Keller grits out and Neal flinches as his heavy hand clenches on his shoulder. “You have something against my kid? Because, I can assure you, it would be better if you didn’t.”

Mister Morris looks like he is about to lash out. He even opens his mouth as if to say something rash but surprisingly… He stops. The only sound he makes is a loud grunt, sounding more like a failed attempt to clear his throat than anything else, and then… He relaxes his clenched fists and the mask he has been wearing earlier during the meeting slips back onto his face. Ignoring all of them, the adult takes the abandoned armchair, then helps himself to a cigar from a box lying on the table. He meets Mister Keller’s eyes only after the second puff.

“What I care about is the job,” Mister Morris says. He waves his cigar in the direction of Travis. “Your job. His job. What are you going to do about this mess?”

A couple more moments of intense silence passes between them. His mentor’s grip on his shoulder relaxes. Surreptitiously Neal shuffles away from Mister Keller. As he delicately probes the aching area he cannot help but grimace. It will definitely bruise.

“Did you know he’s on tweak?” Mil suddenly asks, looking up from his examination of Travis. Seeing the small bag of white powder in his hand, Neal cracks a smile. So he was right earlier. As he suspected, just like the last time, Travis actually came stoned to the meeting.

“I knew it was there,” he says, then chuckles. “Gee, Mil, you seriously need to work on your searches.” The adult grins back at him, then looks up as if to meet Mister Keller’s gaze above Neal’s head. And whatever silent exchange happens there, it causes Mil to stand up and beckon Neal to the door.

“Come on, kid. Let’s wait outside.”

Neal eagerly joins Mil. “That Morris bloke is seriously spooky,” he quietly remarks as they get out of Mister Keller’s earshot. “You know, we met before the meeting and Morris totally owned Travis! Just like now. Well… It was less scary then…” Neal adds thoughtfully and Mil snorts.

“Saved your life twice, huh?” he asks and Neal, after giving it some more thought, finds himself nodding.

“Yeah!” he exclaims.“What’s up with that?!”

Mil waves his hand dismissively. “Do not worry about it, kid. If he hadn’t stopped Travis, I would have. And it’s not like Morris is here to stay, right?”

“…I guess not,” Neal mumbles under his breath, reminded of Mister Keller’s treasure hunt. “Mil, what do you think Mister Keller plans to do after we get the―” he cuts himself off just in time. “―the mansion robbed?”

“Well,” Mil chuckles. “Knowing him, he will get right to planning the next job.”

“Right,” Neal weakly smiles back. “Of course he will.”

“You okay, kid?” The question comes with a gentle clap on his back. Avoiding the adult’s gaze, he determinedly continues to ignore the increasingly insistent prickle of tears in his eyes.

“Yeah, I just…” He clears his throat. “I just need some fresh air,” he lies and instantly blushes as Mil gestures expansively, clearly pointing out that they are already outside.

As the awkward silence stretches Mil sighs. “…Sure. Go ahead. But not too far. Keller’s already pissed off and I don’t want him jumping down my throat.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t,” Neal promises. Somehow, he manages to turn away in time to hide the first tear that rolls down his cheek. The moment the second one does, he has already turned the corner. The walk turns into a run.

Out of breath, choking on his tears, he barrels into a narrow alley only to stop dead in his tracks at the familiar sight of the Labrador she-dog tied to a drainpipe. Seeing him, Bella gets up from the ground and whines softly, wagging her tail.

Stumbling, Neal falls to the ground at her side.

“You’re still here!” he breaths out, hugging her tightly.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Peter could not put his finger on it, but something about the entire situation felt fishy. Had the profilers gotten Keller’s MO wrong? The crook’s behaviour was unpredictable, which unnerved Peter. Maybe he should have said ‘long ride’ when George was still present. The more time he spent listening to Keller’s explanations, the more he regretted he hadn’t.

“I hope that you will keep this between us?” Keller’s polite question made Peter look away from the still unconscious Travis. The hardest thing was to keep his inner tumult from the expression on his face.

“I can’t promise that,” he lied. He was not going to tell Neumann about the whole debacle. “I can promise, however, to support you during the job, that won’t change,” Peter added after a pause. “At least, as long as there won’t be any more… _Surprises_ ,” he emphasized.

“Of course.” There was a murderous tone in Keller’s voice.

Getting up, Peter did nothing to mask his contempt for the crook. He did not know whether it was in character for _Peter Morris_ , but frankly, he was starting to wonder whether it mattered. Keller must have been mad to allow their resident drug-addict to stay as their getaway driver.

At the end of the corridor Miller was waiting for him. He was alone. No George in sight. Without a word the man handed Peter his gun back, then turned away and headed from where Peter had come. Looking after him, Peter pursed his lips.

Where was the kid?

With that frantic question echoing in his mind, he ran upstairs. Pretending to scratch his neck, he raised his wristwatch to his mouth. “I’m out. The kid?” he mumbled, hoping the terrible duo realized how young the child, Peter was dealing with, was and took the initiative to keep him safe after the meeting. Even if only from a distance.

_“He’s back with that dog, boss.”_ Hearing Diana’s voice through his earbud, Peter relaxed. “ _Should we approach?”_

“No,” he quietly said. “I’ll handle that. You keep your eyes on the rest.”

_“Copy that,”_ Diana confirmed.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“And so, you see, Bella, Lucky’s been really missing you and now―” hearing someone’s steps, Neal pauses mid-word. _Mister Keller_ , comes the awareness and he feels his heart picking up speed. Mister Keller cannot see Bella. He cannot…Wait, what?

…What is Mister Morris doing here?

/\\_/\  
='x'=

It was only when the boy, hearing him approach, jumped to his feet, that Peter realized he was not following any kind of plan. Having no idea what to say, slowly, he raised his hands to show the kid that he had no hostile intentions. He had told his subordinates he would handle the child, but… What, exactly, had he meant by that?

There was no way the Headquarters would ever accept the minor’s presence as a reason to call off the operation. So he needed to stay undercover, if only for just one more day. And George too, needed to stay with his abusers for one more day. Right that moment, there was really nothing he could do for the child. So why approach him?

Suddenly, the kid snorted. “Relax Mister Morris, I’m not going to shoot you,” the little boy said and only then did Peter realize, he might have been holding his hands up for a little too long.

Dropping his hands to his sides, he chuckled. “…That’s a relief.”

The boy looked at him quizzically. “…Did Mister Keller send you?”

“No. I don’t think he’s quite finished with Travis yet,” he said, and after a moment of hesitation decided to close the distance between them and sit on the sidewalk next to where the dog was tied, some six feet from the boy.

Feeling George’s alert gaze on himself, he reached his hand towards the dog and watched the loyal creature sniff his hand. Why, out of all the dog breeds, did the kid have to steal a Labrador? As if he were not missing Satchmo enough.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Watching Neumann’s man scratching Bella behind her ear, Neal does not know what to say. He tries very hard to understand the adult’s behaviour and yet, for some reason… He just cannot get a read on Mister Morris anymore. If Mister Keller has not sent him, then what is the adult doing here?

A moment passes and Neal is still unwilling to sit down. “You’re kind of scary,” he says. He needs to remember to be cautious.

Hearing the words, the adult looks up at Neal. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, I _know_. We all are,” he states and it takes Neal some time to understand that Mister Morris is referencing their conversation from before the meeting.

_“You should be more careful with whom you pick your fights, kid. He had a gun.”_

_“Yeah, I know. You all do.”_

Now, not knowing how to answer, Neal shifts from foot to foot. He watches the adult turn his attention back to Bella and sigh.

“I did not know he had a knife,” he hears him say after a moment. “If I had known…” The adult purses his lips, then shakes his head. His gaze flicks back to Neal. “You’re ok, right?” As Neal does not answer, the adult shakes his head again. “What am I asking? Of course you’re not.”

Hearing the quiet words, Neal crosses his arms. “But I _am_ okay!” he lively disagrees and then grimaces as the pain in his bruised arm makes itself felt again. “I really am,” he repeats, sitting down on the sidewalk and focusing his gaze on the beautiful dog. Wagging her tail, she comes to him and tries to kiss him on the face. Chuckling, Neal runs his good hand through her soft fur.

Lucky is going to be so happy to have his mum back.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Peter felt his heart sink as he watched the little boy start petting the dog. He did not miss how gingerly the child was holding his left hand. It was the shoulder that Keller had grabbed.

If George were Peter’s kid, he would have asked him if he could take a look at the damage and make sure nothing got sprained. Just because the kid looked fine and moved with ease at first glance, it did not mean that was the case. Not liking the direction in which his thoughts were taking him, Peter pinched the bridge of his nose.

If George were his kid, he would not have hesitated even for a second to put the boy’s safety above solving the case. He would have wanted the boy out of the hands of the abusers as quickly as possible, even if it meant letting Keller run free, facing a disciplinary hearing and losing his badge.

But George was not his kid and his first responsibility was to the case, not the child.

“I’m sorry,” Peter heard someone say only to realize it was his own voice.

“Huh?” the boy asked cocking his head at him.

Wondering what was the point of having that kind of conversation, Peter shook his head. “Keller should not have done that. He should not have hurt you,” he told the boy. “It was wrong.” _You’re a child, not a tool. You’re a person, not a thing._

Saying nothing, the boy furrowed his forehead.

Peter sighed heavily. _You don’t understand._

_Of course you don’t. How could you, if no one was ever there for you?_

_And tomorrow, I’m going to put you in prison, and you still won’t understand._

Feeling a lump in his throat, Peter had to look away from those soul-piercing blue eyes. The system was wrong. Children, no matter what their wrong deeds, simply did not belong behind bars.

_I can’t save you. I can only arrest you._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Mister Morris is not scary, Mister Morris is… weird. Which… Can potentially become a problem, Neal thinks. Then again, yesterday, Mister Keller did promise to keep Mister Morris away from him.

_Just like he promised not to let Travis hurt you._ Neal grimaces, hearing Vincent’s dry meow.

The cat is wrong. Or maybe… He is right.

Hugging his legs, Neal rests his chin against his knees.

No. He can’t be right. Vincent simply does not know what he is talking about.

Neal cocks his head at the adult. What is it that Mister Morris wants from him, he wonders. Has he seriously come here just to chat?

/\\_/\  
='x'=

He should leave. He should let the boy be. He should get up, walk away, tell Jones to follow George and prepare for tomorrow’s arrests. Talking like that with a target was dangerous.

George might be just a kid, but even a kid, if given enough clues, would sense that something was wrong.

“Look, George. The thing I said earlier that antagonizing Travis was a bad idea – I meant it. Keller plans to leave Travis as our getaway driver and…” Peter paused. It was unreasonable to expect the kid to understand the gravity of the situation. It was like telling a fawn to keep quiet after it lost its mum. Neither the fawn, nor George were equipped to understand there was a huntsman after them. “…And I think you really should not antagonize him more. He’s a problem, not you, but that does not change the fact that he’s the one with a gun. So if he does taunt you, just ignore him.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_B-but what if he tries to hurt you again?_

Neal welcomes the dog’s question with a slight shrug. It does not calm Satchmo’s nerves at all.

“Maybe he won’t,” Neal mumbles, resting his chin against his forearms. To his surprise, Satch is not the only one to hear his voice.

“Yeah, well, hopefully he won’t. But just in case,” Peter Morris says and Neal, as he turns his gaze back at the adult, is surprised to find that he is starting to rather like their Neumann appointed baby sitter. Someone who owned Travis Murphy twice in one day could not be all bad. Watching the adult start to pet Bella again, Neal smiles.

“I think she likes you,” he tells the adult and when Mister Morris just nods, Neal cannot help but add, “I rescued her, you know.”

Unsurprisingly, that makes the adult frown. As he prepares for Mister Keller’s lecture on how animals are stupid pests that shouldn't be taken into account Neal grimaces, but then… “How’s that?” the adult simply asks.

“How’s that?” Neal echoes, now frowning. He turns his gaze to Bella. “Um…” Running a hand through her soft fur, he wonders what it is exactly that the adult is expecting him to say. “You know. Just rescued. Sir.”

“Yeah, I get that,” the adult smiles. “But from whom?”

“From the adults,” Neal mumbles, still feeling as if he is not understanding the question.

“Oh, I understand,” Mister Morris nods. “Someone was mistreating her.”

Hearing the statement, Neal feels an unexpected tightness in his throat.

“That’s wrong…” the adult continues, and Neal is shaking.

“You bet it is!” he exclaims, clenching his fists. “She did nothing wrong and they just left her outside the supermarket, just like that.” Then, reminded of Lucky, he gets up. “And if that was all they did! But no! Yesterday I met a puppy and he tells me that’s Bella―”

Abruptly, Neal pauses. His face feels hot. _This_ , Vincent dryly remarks, _is what happens to kids who like to play make believe too much_. “―I know Lucky can’t really talk, sir,” he finds himself mumbling under the unreadable gaze of the adult.

“…Um. Yeah. Okay.” Mister Morris finally nods, his amused tone heightening Neal’s misery. “So that dog…” The adult clears his throat. “Puppy. Lucky, right?”

He does not want to meet the adult’s gaze again. But he has to. For his dog crew.

“You _can’t_ tell Mister Keller,” he pleads, locking his eyes with Neumann’s man. 

Instantly, all the amusement flees from the adult’s expression. Neal watches him run a hand over his face and take a deep breath. “Yes. Okay. He does not like dogs?”

“Not at all.” With a small sigh Neal slumps down on the sidewalk again. “He calls them pests, sir.”

Mister Morris remains silent and Neal, glancing at him, sighs.

“And not just them. Cats – he does not like them either.”

“Okay,” Mister Morris says.

“…You like pests, sir?” Neal asks curiously. “Cats, I mean!”

“Well,” Mister Morris chuckles, reaching over to pet Bella again. “I don’t mind them, I guess. But I’m more of a dog-person.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Oh,” the disappointed acknowledgement that the child made sounded adorable.

“But I really do not mind cats, kiddo. They are all right,” he rushed to say and only after the words had left his mouth did he realize… He was starting to feel the way he was feeling when talking to his niece Lucy.

And Lucy was seven. As if Peter was not feeling guilty enough as it was.

_Dear God. This child has nearly died today._

And then another thought came to Peter. Because, if he understood George’s story correctly, then…

“Did you really find Bella outside a supermarket, kiddo?” he asked, gesturing at the friendly Labrador and when George nodded… Peter took a deep breath, suddenly feeling as if he was talking to someone much younger than Lucy. “Okay... Then, how about this. Is it possible that her owners did not abandon her but just… Left her outside to do their grocery shopping?”

The boy snorted. “They would not do that.”

Peter rubbed his temple. “Okay. Why?”

“Because, I mean―” the child paused, an absent-minded look entering his face. Peter decided to gently continue.

“Because she has a collar, kiddo. With her owners info on a tag. And usually, when people abandon their dogs, they do not want to leave any traces that could lead back to them.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

What Peter Morris has just said does not make any sense. And yet… The adult seems to believe it.

As he glances sideways at the adult, Neal thinks Mister Morris looks very serious right now. Like he means it. As if he meant what he just said about the dogs, their owners and the collars…

“But it does not make any sense,” he finds himself saying aloud and watches the adult nod.

“Okay,” he says. “Which part?”

“The―” Neal hesitates. “The collars?”

As he voices the words aloud he realizes… That tag bit actually does make sense. It would be weird to let the dog roam around with your data on it.

Silently, Neal reaches his hand to Bella’s collar. “Esther Guillaume,” he reads aloud. “She has even given her phone number and…”

“And her address,” the adult nods, pointing his finger at the info.

“That’s a bit stupid.”

Mister Morris chuckles. “That depends. If you’re a normal person performing a normal job and leading a normal life…” The adult shrugs. “And if you love your dog very much and are afraid of losing her... Then, yeah. You may not be as inclined to protect your personal data as me or Keller are. Though, admittedly, providing an address is a bit much… The phone number should be enough since calling is the first thing any dog finder will do.”

“It is?” he asks.

“…You do not think so?”

“I mean, I―” Looking away from the adult, Neal rubs his forehead. “Sometimes, on busy days, there are a lot of dogs waiting outside supermarkets,” he finally says.

“There are.”

“…And they are not abandoned?” He looks up at the adult.

“I don’t think they are,” Mister Morris says and Neal turns to gaze at Bella again.

“But that does not make any…” he pauses. “Mister Morris, she’s not abandoned?!” he demands.

The adult coughs into his fist, then shakes his head. “I don’t think so, George.”

Caught by a sudden thought, Neal narrows his eyes. “…But what about Lucky?”

“Lucky?” the adult asks. “Oh. The puppy?” Mister Morris cocks his head at him. “Well. Does he have a collar?”

Shaking his head, Neal smiles. “Yesterday, I threw it away,” he says, and then, “You think he―” he pauses. “...You think he was not abandoned either?”

“Well, if you snatched him from outside a supermarket―”

“No, it wasn’t a supermarket, it was a park! And he was running free and no one was running after him and―” Neal cuts himself off. “He was lost?” Neal asks and when the adult nods… “But I don’t have Lucky’s collar anymore! I threw it away!” he cries, jumping to his feet.

“Woah, kid. There is no need for shouting.” Mister Morris raises his hands. “I’m sure his family is already putting up lost dog posters all around the city. All you need to do is to just keep your eyes open. Also, you might always take him to a veterinary clinic since there’s a chance he’s chipped―” the adult pauses. “I’ve just stopped making sense to you, haven’t I?”

Saying nothing, Neal wraps his hands around his stomach. Has he… Has he seriously kidnapped someone’s dog?

“Mister Morris, you have to be wrong! Bella and Lucky, they are strays, they can’t possibly be wanted because, because―” Neal pauses. “Just because…” he whispers.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“It’s all right, kiddo.” After untying Bella from the drainpipe Peter handed over the leash to the child. The boy sniffled. “Just say you’ve found her wandering around. No one’s going to be mad. I can even go with you if you wish―”

“HEY!” the sudden bellow interrupted Peter. He looked back, feeling his blood run cold.

Over my dead body, he thought, taking an unconscious step in front of the boy to hide him from Keller’s sight.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

He has kidnapped a child. Lucky was never abandoned, he was kidnapped. _By him._

“HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE―”

“I need to make this right!” Neal mumbles under his breath, pulling on Bella’s leash.

“George, wait―”

Mister Keller looks angry as Neal runs past him. “I’ll explain later, I promise!”

“Explain what―Damn you kid! STOP!”

The sudden shout makes Neal stop mid-run. Slowly, he turns to look at Mister Keller and Mister Morris. They are now quite a distance away from him. Running a hand through his hair, Neal tries hard to get a grip on his chaotic thoughts. The adults deserve an explanation.

“Mister Keller, I-I’ve kidnapped a child!” he finally utters, watching his mentor as he gets closer.

Mister Keller stops mid-step. “What?” he asks.

Shaking his head, Neal tries to focus. “Oh! A dog child, I mean! What’s the―a puppy!”

The adult blinks. “And where is it now? Because if you took it to the workshop I’m going to―”

Not wanting his mentor to finish that sentence, Neal strongly shakes his head. “No, no, no! It’s in an alley.” He gestures to the dog at his side. “Just like Bella.”

The adult does not answer and Neal, feeling the urgency of the moment again, shifts from foot to foot. There are things that are important and there are things that are urgent. Mister Keller is important but this… This is urgent.

“I’m sorry. I just have to go,” he tells his mentor. “I need an hour or two, call me if you need anything!”

“ _Georgie, you―_ ”

He does not hear the rest. Running at full speed, all he can think about is Lucky. Feeling tears in his eyes, he glances at the Labrador she-dog running by his side.

“I’m so sorry!” he tells her. “I promise I will get you to your adults soon!”

Bella happily woofs in response. Hopefully, one day she will forgive him.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

His heart was hammering against his chest as he watched the child escape from Keller’s clutches and disappear at full run around the corner. He was ready to overtake the man the moment Keller decided to follow. Only he did not.

The criminal shook his head, then muttered to himself. “…And there he goes. Damn that kid.” Then, the crook turned to glare at him. “ _What_?” he gritted out.

Peter blinked. “…You’re letting him go?” he asked.

He watched the man sneer, then take out a cigarette and light it. “What were you doing talking to my kid?” Keller asked coldly.

_“I’ll follow the boy, boss.”_ He heard Jones’ voice through his earpiece.

Peter clenched his fists. He wanted to go to return the dog with the kid, not get stuck with Keller. Reminding himself he needed to keep his cover, Peter forced himself to relax.

“How’s Travis?” he asked.

“Coming back to his senses,” Keller snorted, puffing on the cigarette.

“Douglas is not going to like it if you screw up, Matthew,” Peter warned.

“Neither Travis, _nor the kid_ will screw up.”

“…I hope not.” Peter shook his head. “Are you his father?”

Keller turned his head sharply, locking his gaze with Peter. “I said he’s off limits, Peter. Do I have to spell it out for you? I don’t want to ever see you two talking again.”

Saying nothing, Peter lit a cigarette. He was fine. The kid was fine. It was all going to be over soon.

Keller snorted. “You seem bothered. You’ve got kids yourself, perhaps?”

“Not your damn business,” Peter snarled. “Make sure Travis behaves. Because you’re right, Matthew. Your _kid_ should be off limits. To _everyone_. Including Travis.”

Seething, he turned on his heel and did not wait for an answer. The bastard had gotten to him and he no longer had the strength to be the aloof Peter Morris.

Tomorrow, he would be Peter Burke again and he would make the arrests. Tomorrow…

Tomorrow, along with Keller, he would have to arrest a child. He would have to do it _again._ Rescue a kid from his abusers only to lock him behind bars. Where there would be an abuse of another, _sanctioned_ kind.

The world was mad.

* * *

Next Sunday: **Before the Storm**


	9. Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! As always, thank you for your feedback. I’m happy you’re enjoying the story!  
> Due to real life, I won’t be able to update as frequently as before. I’m planning to post the next chapter in two-three weeks (11.10-18.10).  
> Illustration:<https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41698/nightmare/>

_“There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens.  
A time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.”  
Ecclesiastes 3:1,6 (NABRE)_

Jones grimaced. He was hidden behind a car and could easily observe George. The boy was standing in front of the supermarket talking to the shop assistant. Apparently Jones was privileged to witness the outcome of the conversation the child had with Peter. Jones was relieved to find that the boy sincerely desired to repair the evil he had unwittingly done. Thank God for small mercies!

He had never thought he would find himself following a subject on a quest to return a dog he had unknowingly kidnapped. Then again, he had never had to follow such a young subject. Jones’s early years were not exactly a fairy-tale. He was a poor kid from Queens after all. He knew a child like George spent most of his time in survival mode. He did not have to be told that.

Still, as a kid, he did not remember ever hearing about his peers committing crimes of such severity that they would have attracted the attention of the FBI. George had such a childlike innocence about him that it was jarring to know that he was working alongside such hardened criminals as Keller and, apparently, had an important role to play during the upcoming heist.

The boy displayed such obvious delight when confiding in Peter—while telling him a story about an unwanted puppy who had lost its mum—that it was easy to infer that it was a rare occurrence that the kid met an adult who was willing to listen to him and not immediately deride him for being childish.

Just that moment, the child finally handed over the leash to the shop assistant, and Jones had to stop his rumination. The boy patted the dog on the head and turned on his heel. Jones rose from crouching behind the car. His subject was on the move again.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Saying goodbye to Bella has been hard. Saying goodbye to Lucky, Neal knows, is going to be even harder. It is really a good thing the little puppy has not been living with him longer than just one day. If Neal ever had to say goodbye to Satchmo it would really feel like the end of the world to him. It is a good thing Satch had no adults to begin with.

Thinking again about his conversation with Mister Morris makes Neal feel a bit embarrassed. The adult was right, it was unnecessary to panic like that over not having Lucky’s collar. After all it should still be in a dumpster, outside the workshop. He really hopes that Neumann’s man does not think ill of him now, that he does not think Neal is weak.

_Neal? You’d better use the rooftops,_ Vincent cautions. Neal slows down.

_Why?_ he asks warily. It is true that someone has been following him since at least the supermarket, but it does not mean… _Or call Mister_ Keller, the cat hisses.

Quickening his pace, Neal shakes his head.

_Let’s not trouble him,_ he tells his paranoid friend. Still, he considers his options and sighs. Maybe using rooftops is not such a bad idea. Hopefully, whoever it is that has been following him since at least the supermarket is more like a dog than a cat. Meaning, he cannot climb very fast.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

They were halfway through the conference when Peter’s phone rang. It was Jones, so he put him on speaker.

“I think we have the location,” the agent said. “He disappeared into a building just now.”

“We’ll request a list of residents,” Peter said, writing down the address.

“Did he seriously return that dog?” Andy, one of the youngest agents in the division, asked curiously, then winced as Diana elbowed his side. Peter had barely noticed the exchange.

“He did,” Jones’s voice was deadly serious. “Judging from the shop assistant’s laughter, the story the kid made up must have been quite amusing.”

“Good, Jones. Good,” Peter said a bit distractedly. “Keep an eye on the building. I want to know as the first thing when he leaves to return _Lucky_.”

“You got it, boss,” Jones said and Peter ended the call. It was hard to keep the confidence in his face. To pretend that he had everything under control, while in fact he had no idea what he was doing. The child was a big unknown. Peter carefully surveyed his subordinates, who were uncomfortably crammed into the small conference room. He wondered how many of them realized how easily the case could turn into one of the most tragic in their careers. Smith—a father of two—looked furious. Peter was consoled that at least some of them were aware of the danger in which the twelve-year-old George found himself.

“All right people, as you know, we do not have much time to prepare for tomorrow, but—” Peter paused. He looked at his probie. “Diana, warn the SWAT team there will be a child there tomorrow.”

“I’ve already done it.” Diana smiled. “I’ve also told Jack not to be too surprised if he sees a Labrador or two guarding the mansion…”

A couple of agents laughed, while Peter once again had to suppress a grimace. Inside, he was a nervous wreck. He hoped none of them would notice. It would do them no good if his subordinates knew how much the child’s presence was getting to him.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

The interior of the apartment looks nice. So does the lady holding the little puppy close to her chest and crying her eyes out. She places the little Labrador in the arms of her daughter, then turns her teary gaze at Neal.

“Thank you so much for finding him,” she says holding out her hands as if to hug him. Too occupied with watching Lucky, Neal does not manage to back away in time and gets imprisoned in a full bear hug. He freezes and then the little girl joins the embrace.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She exclaims wrapping her arms around his legs.

“…No problem,” Neal mumbles uncomfortably and the woman and her child let him go. When released, he takes a good two steps back, then smiles at the duo. “Just happy I could help,” he says and then, before any of them can start either attacking him again or asking questions he most definitely has no ready answers to, he turns away and runs.

“I will be on my way then! Nice meeting you!” he shouts over his shoulder and does not stay long enough to hear an answer. Once outside, he sighs with relief.

_Learned your lesson?_ Vincent asks. _I told you we did not need any more dogs._

“Yeah, I promise, no more additions,” Neal says aloud and then chuckles as the Labrador dog whom he left outside, noticing he is back, comes to him running at full speed.

“From now on it will be just you, me and Satch The Nameless,” hugging Satchmo, Neal promises his cat and Satchmo barks in agreement.

_And unlike Lucky, we’re not going anywhere_ , the yellow Labrador promises, and then starts to happily sniff Neal’s sleeve. For some reason, Satch, ever since Neal returned to the apartment to take Lucky back to his home, has been rather… Excited. Much more than usual, that is.

Still chuckling, Neal hugs the dog. “You two are the best friends I could ever wish for!” he tells his pets affectionately before taking one last thoughtful look at Lucky’s apartment block. “You know, to be frank, I am really glad we won’t have to take care of the puppy anymore…” Neal mumbles under his breath, remembering the mess that Lucky’s visit left in the workshop. They would have to clean it all up before Mister Keller gets back.

_So you’d better come and help me get started…_ Vincent meows and Neal shakes his head. Unfortunately, knowing his pets, he will end up being the only one doing all the cleaning.

_It’s because I have paws_ , Satchmo tries to save his face. _Vincent is just lazy, but if I had hands I would have helped you._

“Uhuh, right,” scratching Satchmo behind the ear, Neal smiles and then laughs when Satch jumps on him in response. He guesses there is no harm in playing a little bit first. He tries to get up and run but Satch does not let him. The dog is once again sniffing Neal’s clothes. Chuckling, Neal rests his hand on the top of his friend’s head. “Bud! What’s gotten into you? Ever since I came back you’ve been acting crazy!”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_Taking in the scent of the-missing-one, Satch barks. He sniffs his two-leg’s hands and clothes and keeps on barking._

_You found him! You found him! You found him! The pup chuckles, hugging Satchmo._

_Where is he?! Where?! Satch barks, sniffing the little two-leg’ s clothes again._

_Where is he-who-smells-of-home?!_

“Oh! I know! You’re excited to get the music box, aren’t you?” _the-missing-one barks, obviously sharing Satchmo’s joy. Soon, their pack will be whole._

_You found he-who-smells-of-home! Satch woofs yet again._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Rubbing his throbbing forehead, Peter sighed. Was it time to concede defeat? The only criminals his team managed to keep track of were Miller, Douglas and Travis. Three out of five was not bad, but… Right that moment, he could not care any less about those three.

George. He needed to locate the kid almost as badly as he needed to locate Keller. As hours went by and no child with a puppy left the apartment block, Peter started to suspect they might have underestimated the boy. No one on the list of residents seemed particularly suspicious to him, and neither did Keller show up …

Sighing heavily again, Peter dialled the number of his subordinate. Jones picked up only after one signal. “Jones? Leave Meg to it. I’m calling you back.”

The silence after his words was an eloquent one. Finally, Jones sighed. “I think he used the rooftops.”

Peter nodded. That was the only scenario that made sense. They hang up. Putting away the phone, Peter started to drum his fingers on the desk. He felt distracted. His eyes caught on the clock.

“Damn,” Peter mumbled, suddenly noticing the time. Supper with Elizabeth. He forgot. Again.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Hey! I know what we’re going to do tomorrow! Besides the heist, I mean.” It is late evening when Neal and Satchmo leave the workshop. This is one of those rare occasions when Vincent decides to join them on their walk.

_What can possibly be done besides getting ready for the heist? You’ve heard Mister Keller. We should keep memorizing the schematics,_ Vincent rebukes Neal. The look in the cat’s green eyes is reproachful.

Neal shrugs. “I know Vin, but… Everyone deserves a break, don’t they?”

_Not really. Not before a heist,_ the cat meows, then takes a running start and jumps into Neal’s arms. As he catches the cat, Vincent purrs. They stop and Neal feels an unexpected lump in his throat. He squats and wraps his free arm around Satchmo.

“Whatever happens tomorrow… The music box’s not going to change anything, right?” he asks them almost imploringly.

Satch licks him on the face in response, while Vincent just keeps on purring. Neither of them knows what else they can say. They cannot guess the future. Neal feels tears in his eyes.

“Nothing will change,” he repeats more strongly. “Mister Neumann will be angry with Mister Keller, not me, and anyway, he won’t know a thing.”

Again, just more silence from the animals.

“Nothing will change,” Neal repeats yet again. He takes a deep breath, then smiles down at the two. “So? Want to know what I’ve planned for tomorrow?”

They nod and Neal takes a deep breath. “Tomorrow…” he starts to explain the game he thought of during the meeting for all three of them to play.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

It was almost 1AM when Peter finally got home. The house was submerged in darkness, and as expected, no barking greeted him. Trying to be quiet, Peter closed the door, took off his shoes and went up the stairs.

He found Elle in their bedroom, surfing on the internet.

“The Chinese is in the fridge,” she said even before he managed to open his mouth.

“Thanks, hon.” Coming closer, Peter saw she was going through the websites with missing dog announcements. He pursed his lips. “Any luck?” he asked softly.

Elle turned to him with a sigh. “Does it look like it?” she asked, running a hand over her face. Peter hated to see her like that. He sat on the bed next to her and kissed her hand.

“I’m so sorry.”

Elle shrugged slightly, resting her head against his chest. “We’ll find him.”

Hugging his wife, Peter decided against reinforcing that idea. He was not so sure anymore they would. “So…” Elle sighed. “How did today’s meeting go?”

Peter ran a hand over his face. He did not know what to say. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Damn it, he was not at work anymore, he should not have to pretend.

“I’m tired,” he said after a moment. He really had no strength to talk right then.

“It’s all right, hon,” Elle told him gently, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m here.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Have I already written to you about the storm I saw recently? The sea was yellowish, especially close to the beach; a streak of light on the horizon and, above this, tremendously huge dark grey clouds from which one saw the rain coming down in slanting streaks…” stopping for a moment, Neal yawns. He loves reading Vincent van Gogh’s letters, but he is so tired right now. Vin is lying next to him, his eyes are already closed. Satch blinks a couple of times. They are all so warm.

Neal rests his head on Satchmo’s belly again. He raises the book to the light and strokes the little sketch that the editor put next to the translation. “The wind blew the dust from the small white path on the rocks into the sea and tossed the blossoming hawthorn bushes and wallflowers that grow on the rocks…” Neal yawns once again. His eyelids feel heavy and the letters begin to blur together. He blinks one time, then another and… Finally giving up the fight, he buries his face in Satchmo’s fur. Sleep wraps around him like a comfy blanket.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal does not remember the nightmare that has woken him up. All he knows is that one moment he is drifting through the comfy darkness and the next… He is lying wide awake. His heart is pounding as though he has been running. He slowly crawls out from under the bed where Satchmo and Vincent are still asleep.

Everything looks eerie bathed in the light of the street lamps filtering through the curtains. Moving silently through the workshop, Neal checks first the front door, then the balcony. All locked. He breathes with relief, then, not knowing quite what else to do, he opens the fridge. Fortunately, there is still some milk left.

He slumps to the floor and drinks the cold liquid out of the bottle. A shiver runs through him. He thinks briefly of Lucky and wonders what the puppy is doing now. He gets up from the floor to look at the sketches he has made of the little dog.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

An hour or two has passed since he woke up. There is a messy pile of sketchbooks lying to his left. He has already looked through all of them. The one in front of him now is one of his favourites. He smiles, his fingers hovering over Satchmo’s black fur. He likes how this sketch turned out. The charcoal makes the dog look soft and fluffy. He flips through the pages, trying to find the earliest portrait he made of his friend.

A squirrel looks back at him. _Just Before We Met_ , reads the title and Neal, thinking of that day, smiles. He shakes his head remembering Satchmo’s food-stand robbery. A lot has happened since then. And to think he thought that PEP officer was after him, not the dog! He rests his chin against his palms, then looks at the drawing intently. He likes it. But he likes the next sketch even more.

The first drawing of Satchmo is perfect. Not really because of the quality of it, but the memories it holds. The smiling dog is lying on the grass with his tongue lolling out. There is a pizza box next to him. Empty, obviously. Smiling some more, Neal is just about to turn to the next page when a small detail catches his attention.

His eyes widen in shock.

_Satchmo, you had a collar?!_

With his heart pounding, Neal flips through the pages, searching for more evidence and… After that first day Satchmo’s collar is gone “No…” he whispers. “No way.”

Only there is. Because the more he thinks about it the more he remembers that… Yes. Just like with Lucky, Neal was the one who threw away Satchmo’s collar. And he would not find it in a dumpster outside the workshop, he left it in the city. Feeling sick, Neal stands up. He starts to suspect he might know what that nightmare that woke him up was about. But what did Mister Morris say? That New York is full of missing dog flyers? That adults put them up in the veterinary clinics?

With trembling hands Neal puts on his shoes and jacket. He does not want to look into the bedroom where his friends are still sleeping. He is too afraid he will burst into tears if he even tries to look at Satchmo right now. Quietly, Neal opens the balcony door. He just has to know first. He needs to. Swiftly like a cat, Neal disappears into the night.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Predictably, when Neal breaks into the vet’s office, it turns out to be empty. It is the middle of the night after all. Turning on the flashlight, Neal looks around at what seems to be a waiting area. He feels agitated. He does not want to be here. Deciding that Mister Morris was wrong, he is just about to leave; there are no posters here, when suddenly… Something does catch his attention.

Coming closer, Neal feels dread. He sees a wall full of posters with words _Lost Dog_ written all over them in bold letters. There are countless dogs staring back at him and one of them… He wrenches the poster from the board and clenches it in his shaking hands.

**_LOST DOG_** , reads the title.

There is a picture, he notes. The Lab… He knows him.

Of course he does.

It is getting harder to breathe. And there on the dog’s neck… That cursed collar. Mocking him.

_Name: Satchmo._ Right. He feels tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He is so stupid. That stupid name. He got rid of the collar, but in the end he did not get rid of the name. He gazes at his friend for a moment. Then, he takes a deep breath and moves on.

There is a cheerful description below the photo. _Satchmo is a very friendly, yellow Labrador Retriever. He’s been chipped. Tag and blue collar with him. Answers when called. Will not bite. Please help us find him!_ They want him.

They want him back.

_Area last seen: Brooklyn, New York_

Those lying…! He found him in Central Park, not…

He rubs his eyes angrily, trying to reduce the blurring of the text. Bewildered, he scans through the rest of the information.

There it is. The date.

And there. The number. _If You Have Any Information Please Contact…_

Taking a shuddering breath, Neal crumples the flyer in his hands. He can feel the tears slowly running down his face.

“Why…” he whispers. He feels the bile in his throat.

He thought that Satchmo was alone… That he was…

Like Neal.

_Unwanted._

Like Neal.

_But he is… Satchmo is…_

They want him. They want him _back_.

…

And because they are adults they _will_ take him back.

* * *

Next (11.10-18.10): **Have You Seen Me**  
  



	10. Have You Seen Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for waiting! I hope you're all doing okay.
> 
> If all goes well, I will update the story on Sunday in three weeks (08.11).
> 
> The illustration:<https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41740/sadness/>
> 
> I’m very curious to know what you make of this chapter. :)

_“For what I feared overtakes me; what I dreaded comes upon me.  
I have no peace nor ease; I have no rest, for trouble has come!”  
Job 3:25-26 (NABRE)_

_Satchmo gets woken up by the distressed cry of his pup. He is on his paws in an instant. He rushes to meet the-missing-one with a wagging tail and happy barks. The pup only cries harder. He pushes Satchmo away, then thrusts a crumpled piece of paper at his snout. It smells funny._

“SEE?” _the pup cries._ “It’s YOU,” _he whines._ “It’s not just Bella who’s wanted. It’s not just Lucky who’s wanted. YOU’RE WANTED TOO! The adults are going to take you away too!”

_It is all right. It is okay. I love you_ , _Satchmo whines. You found he-who-smells-of-home once, we can find him again!_

“THEY WANT YOU! The adults want everyone but the kids!” _the pup whimpers. Oh, how much he wishes she-who-smells-of-home and he-who-smells-of-home were here. It is clear the pup is panicking over nothing. The pup should not panic when Satch is with him._

“At the vet’s office there were tons of flyers like this one. Tons!” _the-missing-one keeps barking, then suddenly – he stops. Something must have changed for the better because the pup stops crying. Drying his eyes the pup takes the two-leg-in-the-box thingamajig. There is a click, then silence and then… Satch cocks his head. Something about the voice of the two-leg imprisoned in the box sounds familiar. He does not know why._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Holding the phone close to his ear, Neal hopes the number is wrong. Or that the person who answers does not like yellow dogs with happy eyes and disarming smiles. And then he hears her voice.

“Elizabeth Burke.” Neal feels his throat tighten. _Be mean, please be very mean,_ he silently begs the stranger. “May I ask who’s calling, please?”

“Um…” Neal clears his throat. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” the woman says. He can hear a smile in her voice. The smile that she has especially reserved for Satchmo. He is reminded of Lucky and the lady who lost him, who was so happy when Neal brought the puppy back to her family yesterday. His vision becomes blurry again.

“I’m-m,” he tries to say but the words get tangled.

“Sorry, sweetie? Could you repeat that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“S-Satchmo,” Neal tries yet again. At first silence answers him. And then…

“Satchmo!” the woman exclaims. “You have some information about Satchmo? You saw the dog from the poster, please, could you give me some specifics? Is he still there? I can be on my way right now, just—”

Sobbing, Neal hangs up. He looks at the dog accusingly.

“Hear that? She says she’s going to take you away!” Hugging his knees, he curls into a ball. Satchmo lies down next to him, but when the phone starts ringing again the dog raises his head and prickles his ears. Feeling miserable, Neal looks at the buzzing monstrosity.

“She says you never wanted me,” he whispers to the dog. “She says you're leaving… She says you’re leaving just like mum did.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“HON! WAKE UP!”

Peter woke up with a startle. One second he was in his bed, deep asleep, the next - he jumped to his feet wide awake, his hand going for the gun in the nightstand drawer, only to… Freeze, when he realized that his wife, despite the bloodcurdling scream, was in one piece.

“Hon!” She rushed towards him and grabbed his arm. “Someone have found Satchmo!”

“…What?”

“A little boy, I think! He— I think I even heard a dog whine.” Elle gestured to her phone. “But the boy disconnected and now he does not pick up!”

She showed him the screen of her phone. Peter numbly took the device from her hands. He stared at the unknown number for a longer moment, then looked back at Elizabeth. She was safe, he told himself. His heart, still hammering in his chest, seemed to disagree.

“What did he say?” he finally asked.

“Nothing, really. Just Satchmo’s name. But he sounded so distressed! As if he was crying…” She furrowed her forehead. “Hon, why isn’t he picking up?”

“I don’t—” Bewildered, Peter shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, giving back her phone. He watched Elle ran a hand over her face. There were tears glistening in her eyes.

“Come on,” she whispered, dialling the number again.

Peter looked at the hour. It was 4AM. Just twenty hours left till the takedown of Keller’s crew. He nodded to himself. “Elle, I’m going to work early.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“I need to get the upper hand on this case, hon. There is too much at stake,” Peter explained, opening the wardrobe. Elle followed him.

“But hon, what about Satchmo―”

Feeling frustrated, Peter looked back at Elizabeth. “Satchmo’s just a dog, Elle. This is far more important!” The harsh words surprised him. “I mean, he’s our dog, yes, but hon, this case―”

“Is more important, of course,” she interrupted him. “I should have known by now. Your personal life has been competing with Keller for four years now so of course...”

Turning on her heel, she left him alone in the bedroom.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Staring down at the phone in her hands Elle felt unnerved. It was the thirtieth time she called the number. And still, there was no answer.

“Why aren’t you picking up…” she mumbled.

“After this is over, I promise to double my efforts to find Satch, ok?” Hearing her husband’s voice, she looked up. He was already dressed in a suit, ready to go to work.

She offered him a cup of coffee and he took it, nodding his thanks.

“Not staying for breakfast?” she asked after a moment, rubbing her itching eyes.

“I…” Putting the mug on the table, Peter shook himself. “I’m sorry, hon. I can’t. This is too important.”

Dialling the number again, she did not answer. Usually, she could understand her husband quite well, but right that moment… Somehow, she just could not. It was Satch after all. The first sign of life in almost two months and… Peter what, did not even give a single thought to their boy?

“Look, honey. I’ll try to explain more once it’s over,” her husband said. “But basically one of my subjects got away and it’s really important for me to locate him before the heist. You understand?”

“…I’m trying to.”

They kissed, murmuring the word ‘hon’ and then Peter, after saying one last apology, left. Sighing heavily, she locked the door after him.

On her way back to the kitchen, she thought one thing was certain, if Satchmo had not been missing, neither of them would have ever suspected how ill-tempered they could be with each other at times.

Taking a chair, Elle dialled the number again. Listening to the beeping of the unanswered call, she suddenly realized something else. Something that really made her angry at Peter.

If it was just the matter of Satchmo getting found, maybe she could understand. But she had told him it was a crying child who had answered the phone. Not an adult but a distressed little boy. And even that was not enough to get Peter out of his tunnel vision. No, because right that moment, all her husband could think about was the case he was working on. Nothing else mattered.

Dialling the number again, Elle sighed. She rubbed her temples. She could already feel the tension headache coming on. Come on little guy, she thought, pick up…

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Who is a friend, you ask? It is someone who knows exactly how to break your heart,” _the-missing-one sobs yet again. Satchmo tries to kiss the pup’s nose, but the pup turns his head away and does not let him. He tries again and the-missing-one pushes him away._

_Confused, Satch meets the eyes of the-little-friend and whines softly. The purring gets louder but Satch is not sure what good it does. The reason the puppy is sad, most obviously, is because instead of playing like a normal puppy should, he is just lying there, playing dead._

_Get up, pup! Let’s run together, let’s run! Satchmo barks._

_The-missing-one remains motionless. Whining, Satchmo licks the pup on the ear, trying to comfort him. I love you!_

“Leave me alone…” _the pup whines, curling into a ball._

_Distraught, Satchmo turns to look at the-little-friend again. The pup’s sick, he tells him._

_He watches the-little-friend pat the-missing-one on the head, then push his head against Satchmo’s side, purring ever so loudly. Evidently, he does not know what to do either._

__

_Resting his head on the top of the pup’s head, Satch gazes at the two-leg-in-the-box thingamajig. He wishes it had already stopped making the beeping noises. He would not be surprised if it was that thingamajig that made the pup sick. His ears hurt._

_Desperate to silence the thingamajig, he gets up and picks it up. It tastes funny._

_He brings it to the pup. Maybe he could do something about the noises. Or maybe…_

_Let’s play, Satch whines and drops the two-leg-in-the-box thingamajig in front of the two-leg’s face. But as the thingamajig hits the floor, something changes. The ear-hurting noises stop._

“Hello?! Sweetie, are you there?!” _comes the voice of the imprisoned in the box two-leg. Satchmo cocks his head. The sounds are eerily familiar._

_The pup grabs the thingamajig and stares at it, he is shaking. Satchmo likes this less and less. The-missing-one is frightened. He barks. He wants the pup to know that he is there for him._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Staring down at the phone, Neal is horrified. He does not dare to hang up, but he does not say a word either. Satchmo has chosen. He has just made his choice. He has chosen the lady who harassed them with the phone-calls over Neal. His friend wants to leave.

“Sweetie, hello? Look, I’m not sure what the situation you are in is, but I just want to tell you, it is all right to talk to me. Just speak a word, sweetie, please. I am sure we can work something out.”

Confused, Neal blinks.

“…What?” he mumbles.

“Sweetie! I’m so glad I can hear you! Listen, sweetie, are you alright?”

Neal wipes his nose on his sleeve and scrubs his eyes, trying to get rid of the tears.

“W-why do you ask?” he finally whispers.

“I was worried,” the woman tells him. “You haven’t been picking up.”

“I…” Neal takes a deep breath, then pauses. “I…” He blinks furiously trying to get rid of the tears gathering in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s okay. Everything’s ok, sweetie, I—”

_No, it’s not! Because you want to take Satch away!_ Neal hears Vincent’s accusation against the woman. Neal himself stays silent. Or at least he thinks he does.

“I want to take Satch away?” He hears the woman echo the words of the cat back at him. She sounds uncertain. Neal looks at Vincent. The cat should have stayed silent. “Sweetie, what do you mean? Is Satch with you?”

Hugging his knees, Neal holds out his hand to rest it on the top of the dog’s head.

“…Yeah,” he whispers. Seized by a desperate idea, he painfully clenches his hand on the phone. She has to understand. Satchmo has to stay. “I don’t think he wants to come back, ma’m! He’s happy where he is now!”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the desperation in the child’s voice, Elle was at a loss on how to respond.

“I understand you’ve grown quite fond of Satch,” she said after a moment of hesitation.

“We’re best friends,” came the quick and proud answer.

Elle rubbed her forehead. “I understand,” she repeated. “How old are you, sweetie?”

“And he doesn’t want to come back,” the boy said, ignoring her question. “In fact, he hates you for leaving him.”

“He told you that?” she asked, feeling amused despite the situation.

“He—” There was a pause. “I know dogs can’t talk.”

“I see…” Elle paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “Are you alone sweetie? Or is there someone adult I could talk to?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the question, Neal frowns. Why would the lady want to speak to someone adult?

“…You can talk to me,” he decides to say after a moment.

“Are you alone?”

Looking at Vincent and Satch, Neal frowns. “No, I’m not.” Then, remembering why he has called the woman in the first place, Neal grits his teeth. “But you want me to be alone!”

“No, I—“ the lady pauses. “You mean… If Satchmo leaves, you will be alone?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“I won’t be, but Vincent will!”

Vincent. Elle frowned. Another child? “…Your brother?” she guessed.

“Yeah,” the boy answered.

“What about your parents, sweetie? Will they miss Satch?”

“…Yeah.”

Okay. One thing at a time. So there were parents and they knew of Satchmo. “Did they tell you to call me, sweetie?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

This is not the best of his cons, Neal thinks grimly, staring straight ahead at his latest painting. The paint on it is still wet and the deadline that Mister Keller set is five days from now. He still has time. Glancing sideways at Satchmo, he feels the prickle of tears in his eyes. Satchmo does not. Satchmo’s time is over.

“Sweetheart? Could you please answer me?” the lady asks.

Not remembering what the question was, Neal shakes his head.

“…What?” he asks weakly.

“Did your parents tell you to call my number?”

“They—” Neal pauses. What is he saying? He does not have parents. “Um.”

“Did they see the Lost Dog flyer and told you to call the number?”

This, he thinks, he can answer. “My uncle’s friend told me that.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Okay. So there was a brother named Victor, parents, uncle and uncle’s friend. Elle rubbed her forehead.

“He told you to call this number?” she asked just to make sure.

“He told me that the collar means Satch’s wanted,” the child answered.

“Wanted?” Elle echoed.

“That the adults have not abandoned him and that—” The boy’s voice cracked. “T-that you will want to have him back,” he sobbed.

That uncle’s friend did not sound very responsible. How could he leave the child alone with the task of calling her. Listening to the child’s sobs, it was most hard for Elle to gather her thoughts.

_Okay, first things first,_ she thought.

“Sweetie, you’re not hurt, are you?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the question, Neal blinks. “N-no,” he says quietly.

“Or in danger?”

He shakes his head.

“Sweetheart? Are you in danger?”

“No!” Why is the lady asking him this?

“Okay,” he hears her breathe. “Okay. But you’re alone, with your brother, at your home.”

“I don’t have a bro—” he starts to answer only to pause. “…Oh.” He looks at Vincent. “I forgot.”

“…What did you forget?”

Scrubbing his eyes, Neal yawns. He buries his face in Satch’s fur, lies on the floor and hugs his soon-to-leave friend.

“Something about your brother?” the lady asks again.

“…I don’t know,” he mumbles.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

The boy claimed he was neither hurt nor in danger. But that conversation… It just felt wrong. Suddenly overcome with anxiety, Elle gripped the phone tightly.

“Sweetheart, please talk to me,” she said. “Why weren’t you picking up earlier? Did you hear the phone ringing?”

There was silence. Then, after what felt like ages, Elle heard the boy make a small acknowledgement.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. So you heard.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you pick up?”

“…Because, um… Because…” the boy sighed. “…I’m sorry. I don’t really know, ma’m,” he mumbled.

“No, that’s okay,” Elle shook her head. “That’s okay…”

“…It was really tiring though. You’ve been calling non-stop…” the child sighed again. Something cold clenched in her stomach. The boy was right. She had been calling him for ten hours. Everyone in their right mind would have either blocked the number or picked up after a couple of signals. But something about the boy was clearly not right. That entire conversation was not right.

“I’ve been calling for ten hours,” she quietly confirmed. “Sweetie, were you alone all that time?” she asked, then shook her head, remembering the non-answer she previously received to a similar question. “I mean,” she cleared her throat. “Where was everyone?”

“Everyone?” the child echoed.

“Your uncle’s friend for example,” Elle quickly clarified.

“I dunno…” the boy mumbled after a moment, then sighed. “It’s not like I really know him.”

Elle did not realize the exact moment she got up and started to pace around the kitchen. “Okay,” she said. “And your uncle?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

What is it with all those questions? Running a hand over his face, Neal sighs heavily.

“I don’t understand,” he mutters.

“Do you know where he lives?” the lady asks.

“N-no,” Neal says and then, immediately, he shuts his mouth. Mister Keller, he suddenly realizes, would not be happy to hear this conversation. He really should not talk more than necessary or…

“What about your parents?”

“I DON’T HAVE PARENTS!” He does not mean to say those words. But they burst out and suddenly Neal is sobbing again. Now it is not just Mister Keller that would be angry with him, now he has made mum angry as well. She must be, because…

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Elle did not know when she decided to leave. She only knew that one moment she was in the kitchen, the next… She was out, turning the key in the lock.

She might have been overreacting, maybe nothing bad was happening to the child, maybe the boy was just angry with his parents for telling him to return the found dog, but… She did not care.

“Sweetie, could you tell me your address? Because I really feel you should not be alone right now.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

The question makes all Neal’s thoughts come to a halt.

“W-what?” he asks blankly.

“I really feel we should meet, sweetie,” the woman repeats. “Clearly, something is wrong and—“

“YOU WANT TO TAKE SATCHMO AWAY! THAT’S WHAT’S WRONG!”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the helpless cry, Elle quickened her pace. She got into the car.

“I won’t take Satchmo away if you don’t let me,” she said. She doubted very much that the dog the child had found was Satch, anyway, and frankly, right that moment... It hardly seemed to matter. From the child’s erratic behaviour towards her, the stranger, she inferred that either he was physically hurt or that something else just as bad was going on. She had to help him.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“You won’t take Satch away?” he echoes the words in disbelief.

“I won’t,” the lady says. “I promise, I won’t.”

Suddenly feeling hopeful again, Neal smiles. “So I was right all along! You don’t want him, not really!”

“No, I want—” the woman pauses. “Sweetie. No, I do have a missing dog, sweetie, and I do want to find him. But right now I don’t think it matters much. Right now I need to meet with you and make sure you’re okay.”

Neal does not answer and the woman sighs.

“…Okay, I think we should start again. My name is Elle. Nice to meet you—”

“—It’s Neal,” he fills in before he can think better of it.

“Neal! What a wonderful name,” the woman says. “Listen, Neal. I have a very important question for you. Do you think you can go outside?”

He does not like this question. “I can do whatever I want!”

“Oh, okay,” the woman says. “So how about this. How about you take Satchmo for a walk and meet me somewhere in your neighbourhood? I’m in a car right now, I can drive to your address.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Saying the words, Elle prayed hard to hear the child answer ‘ _I need to ask my parents first’_ or _‘parents told me not to trust strangers’_ or...

“My uncle would not like that,” she heard the boy say instead. Which, she guessed, was something, only…

“When is your uncle coming home?” she asked and cringed inside, hearing the immediate answer.

“I don’t think uncle has a home.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “But he lives with you?”

“He—” the child hesitated. “No. Not really,” he said in a small voice. Elle felt furious.

“Okay, sweetie,” she said. “Then who lives with you?”

The boy did not answer.

“Do your parents live with you?”

Silence.

“Does your uncle’s friend live with you?”

Again, more silence.

“Victor. Does Victor live with you?”

“Vincent!” the child quickly corrected. “Yeah, he does but—” the boy paused. “…But sometimes he does not,” he quietly said. “…Sometimes he just disappears…”

Elle clenched and unclenched her fists. “I understand,” she said slowly. “Do you know where he goes?”

“No,” the boy said. “…Not at all,” he sobbed.

“So it’s just you, Vincent and Satchmo? The three of you live alone?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal knows the question is a trap. He knows it is designed so that the kids like him could easily fall into the hands of mean social workers and even meaner adoptive parents. Mum has taught him all about how to answer such questions. But the lady…

But what if the lady really meant it when she said she wouldn't take Satch away? What if he could make her understand that Satchmo was better off with him than…

“Yes, we do!” he says. His throat feels tight. “So you see, this is why you can’t take Satch away! He’s the only one that I know will always be waiting for me! …Vincent,” Neal breaths heavily. “Vincent’s not like that…”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the quiet, sad words Elle’s heart sank. But then, she remembered something the boy said earlier about that Vincent person and so, she took a deep breath and ordered her voice to stay even despite the bile forming in her throat.

“He’s with you now, though?” she asked.

“…Mhm.”

“Do you think I could talk to him?”

The chance that the child’s brother was older than him was slim, but still…

“He can’t really talk,” the boy stated.

“He’s a baby?!” Elle did not mean to raise her voice. Somehow, however, she did and… She froze, hearing the child chuckle.

“She called you a baby,” she then heard him say to someone. Vincent, possibly…?

“Neal…” Elle shook her head. Clearly, that Vincent, whoever he was, did leave from time to time so he could not be a baby. On the other hand, she no longer knew what to believe. The child’s answers were contradictory.

A cat meowed. Elle by now was quite used to hearing the soft whines that reminded her a bit of Satchmo and confirmed that the boy did indeed have a dog, but it was the first time she heard that meowing and as she put two and two together…

“He’s a cat,” she said, suddenly filled with certainty that was not there before.

The child seemed to think it was funny. “Mhm,” he laughed.

Elle felt her blood run cold. “Okay,” she nodded, trying to sound light. “So Vincent, you and Satchmo. You three live alone?”

“And that’s why you can’t separate us,” the boy stated. “That’s why you can’t take Satchmo away.”

“Because then it would be just the two of you?” Elle asked.

“Mhm,” the boy mumbled. “Please understand—”

“I do, I do understand,” she said. “What about your uncle though?”

“He’s not going to harm them!” the child exclaimed angrily and Elle winced.

_Dear. God._

“But he did harm them before…” she quietly said, begging the boy to disagree. He did not.

“But never again!” the boy cried. “I’m smarter now, you don’t have to worry about Satchmo, and Mister K—“ the boy stumbled on the words. “—He does not know a thing, Elle! I swear he does not. We really are okay together. And Satchmo does not want to return to you anyway, he says you’ve left him and he does not want to leave me and…” the child paused. “Please. You said you wouldn’t take him away.”

Elle’s heart was hammering. She shook her head. She had to focus. She had to locate the boy, call Peter, find out more about the situation, maybe try to check the child’s story with his uncle, inform the children's services…

“Listen, Neal.” Elle felt surprised by how calm her voice sounded when she spoke. It was as if she was listening to someone else, some other woman’s voice. “Sweetie. Yes, if you don’t want me to, I won’t take Satchmo away. But I really need to meet you two first. Three,” she corrected, just in case it turned out Vincent was not a cat after all. “Do you know a place where we could meet?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the question, Neal wraps his arms more tightly around Satch. He swallows the bile in his throat.

“You’re not going to take him away?”

“No,” the lady says. “No, if you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

“I don’t! I don’t want you to!”

“Then, I won’t,” the lady states.

Snuggling his face into Satchmo’s fur, Neal breaths out slowly.

“She won’t take you away…” he tells his friend.

“No, I won’t,” the lady repeats. “I won’t, sweetie, but I would really like to meet you. Do you know a place where we could meet?”

Neal frowns. Why?

“It’s really important to me that we meet,” the lady says yet again.

There is a pause.

“Neal, are you there?”

He stays silent.

“It’s important to me, sweetheart, that we meet because I don’t think that things at home—” the lady pauses, then clears her throat. “Look, Neal. I really do miss Satchmo. I promise not to take him away, but I would really like to see him. You can understand that, right? You love Satch too.”

Blinking away the tears, Neal shakes his head. “But you’re going to—”

The lady interrupts him. “No, Neal. I’m not going to separate you two.”

“You are not?”

“No,” she confirms. “I just want to see him.”

“Um…” Neal lets out a sigh. “Um, okay then…” he whispers. “Okay…” he chuckles.

“Do you know where we could meet?” the lady asks and Neal rubs his eyes. In his head he runs through the places that are the easiest to observe while unseen. The flyer said Satchmo got lost in Brooklyn…

“Prospect Park,” he mumbles.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the name, Elle frowned. Prospect Park was twenty minutes’ walk from her home. Did the boy live nearby?

“Okay,” she said. “What’s your favourite spot there?”

“Brooklyn Museum?” the child asked.

“Okay,” Elle nodded, letting out a small sigh of relief. “So, we’ll meet in front of the Brooklyn Museum. How much time do you need to get there?”

“A-an hour,” came the uncertain answer. Elle nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “We do not have to hang up, you know. We can talk on the way.”

“…That would be silly,” the boy chuckled. Elle took a deep breath, then forced herself to relax again.

“But you’re going to pick up the phone, right?”

“Right,” the child said and, before she could once again confirm the hour of the meeting, hang up.

Elle shuddered. She pursed her lips, then looked at the screen of the phone. It was most hard not to press CALL again.

Instead, with a small sigh, she changed the name of the contact to _Neal_. Then she scrolled to another number on the list.

…

Peter picked up almost right away.

* * *

Next (08.11): **The Found One**


	11. The Found One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for your kind reviews! Reading them made me so happy! ❤
> 
> The illustration: <https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41789/lets-go-for-a-walk/>
> 
> If all goes well I’ll post the next chapter in four weeks (Sunday 06.12).

_“_ _Can a mother forget her infant,  
be without tenderness for the child of her womb?  
Even should she forget,  
I will never forget you.”  
Isaiah 49:15 (NABRE)_

“I should have said Central Park. Why did I not say Central Park? Why Prospect Park? I don’t know Brooklyn. I don’t want to be here,” _Satch hears the pup mumble._

_Let’s play! Satch barks and gently grabs the two-leg’s hand._

“Yuck!” _the pup pushes Satch’s head away and falls to his knees. He holds Satch’s head between his two palms and locks his eyes with Satchmo’s._ “You’re absolutely right. We should go back.”

_The-little-friend sits next to them, his tail flicking._

_Let’s play, Satch whines again, giving the pup a kiss on the nose. The-missing-one laughs, then scoops the-little-friend back into his arms._ “I don’t know what to do,” _he whispers._

_When Satch tries to sniff the cat, the-little-friend pats his nose. He looks back at the-missing-one. Why won’t he play?_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

She frowned hard at the screen of her phone _._ It was 3:26 PM. The boy was running ten minutes late. Should she call?

She ran a hand through her hair.

_Why can’t you be here, Peter?_

Her phone buzzed. _That’s him_ , she thought immediately checking the message and…

No, the message was not from Neal.

_[Hon: Did he come?]_

She sighed. It was 3:27 PM.

_Not yet_ , she typed in response.

_[Hon: Don’t worry. Let me know when he comes.]_

She sighed and typed _OK_. She guessed she should not expect a child to be very punctual, but still… Gazing at the screen of her phone she sighed once again, then chose the newest number from her list of contacts.

“Okay,” she breathed out. “Please answer.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal has been hugging his two friends for a while now when the sudden buzz of his phone makes him flinch.

“Mister Keller!” he exclaims in panic, pulling away from Satch and taking out his phone. He is just about to hit the ANSWER button when…

It is not his mentor, he realizes. Instead, it is that annoying lady again.

He watches the screen blankly until it goes black and the phone is silent again.

Then, comes the text message.

_[unsaved number: Sweetie, are you okay?]_

“Why do you want to know?” he mumbles under his breath and then blinks as the next text message from the lady comes in.

_[unsaved number: If you’ve run into some kind of trouble, please let me know. If you got lost I can give you directions. I’m sitting on the steps to the Brooklyn Museum, waiting for you.]_

“…You are?” Neal asks.

_[unsaved number: If you can call me back.]_

Neal snorts.

“Yeah, well. _Sorry._ I can’t,” he states before pocketing the phone. “Come on,” he turns to his two friends. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, picking up Vincent in his arms again. “It was a bad idea.”

Satch, at his side, barks.

Feeling like crying again, Neal sits on the sidewalk and hugs his knees. Satch kisses him on the face, wagging his tail. He whines softly.

“I have no idea what you’re telling me,” Neal whispers, resting his hand on the top of the dog’s head. “Do you miss her?”

Neal flinches and looks at his phone. The lady is not giving up.

_[unknown number: Or at least type ‘ok’ so I know you’re alright.]_

Reading the message, Neal sighs. He rests his head against Satchmo’s head and gazes at the screen. His fingers hover over the keyboard.

Satch whines.

_Ok_ , Neal finally types. He sends the message and grimaces at the immediate response.

_[unknown number: Thank you so much! I’m waiting for you then.]_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_Looking around the park Satch wags his tail. The smells… The smells are very familiar, he realizes._

_He sniffs the ground, then a tree._

_His friends, he realizes. His friends have been here._

_The scent of his friends reminds him of the hunts with the-ones-who-smell-of-home. From the time before they got lost and he met the-missing-one._

_Looking up at the lost pup and the-little-friend, Satch barks. I know this place, he tells them._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Watching the dog grow more excited, Neal feels his heart sinking. Satch knows this place.

He watches the dog as he enthusiastically continues to explore the park. He gets farther and farther away. And he waits for neither Neal nor Vincent. He does not care. Hugging Vincent close to his chest Neal squats.

“Satch!” he cries and breaths in relief as the dog looks back at him. He watches him run towards them with a wagging tail and… “No!” Neal protests, jumping to his feet as the dog tries to knock both Vincent and him down. “Not playing…”

The dog barks, running around them in a wide circle.

“Be silent or she’ll hear you!”

Satchmo does not seem to care. Feeling heat in his face, Neal watches him run away from him, bark, get to his elbows and bark again.

“Quiet!” Neal snaps and the dog pauses. He watches him lie on the ground and whine, wagging his tail. Angrily, Neal kneels on the grass and does something he only did during their walks when the adults told him to.

Avoiding his friend’s gaze, he fishes the hand-made leash out of his backpack. The dog licks his hands.

“Satchmo. You have to stay with me, okay?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_As the pup prevents Satch from reading his friends’ messages, Satch whines. He looks at the-missing-one with rebuke._

_We’re close to the Burke-den. I know it, he tells the pup. I can find the way._

“Quiet, Satch! Quiet…” _the-missing-one hisses._

_I know how to get us unlost, Satch whines yet again. I know the way!_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

As she paced back and forth, Elle’s eyes darted from person to person. Her heart skipped a beat every time she saw a child. One moment she had her hopes up only to be disappointed the next.

She did not know what Neal looked like or even how old he was. She doubted though, that the boy would come with an adult or another child. None of the lone, young passers-by seemed to be looking for anyone. They were not Neal.

Her headache was getting worse.

She switched on her phone again. Her fingers hovered over the only text message that she got from the boy. Almost an hour passed since he had sent it.

_[Neal: Ok]_

She read the word again.

_Ok._

It echoed in her mind.

But Neal was wrong. Nothing was okay.

Shaking her head, Elle let out a deep breath. She really had waited long enough. “All right, sweetie,” she mumbled, pressing the CALL button. “Let’s try this again.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal looks at the people waiting on the steps of the museum. From the spot he is hiding in, none of them can see him.

“I think she did not come,” he tells the dog at his side. The disloyal creature has been trying to get away from his hug almost the entire time. “I think she does not want you. I think…”

His eyes pause on the raven-haired, casually dressed woman in her thirties. She does not look like someone who likes yellow labs. Neal is certain of that.

Sharp teeth pinch his hand slightly. Neal looks down into the cat's reproachful eyes. Vincent does not like Neal’s current hiding spot any more than Satchmo does.

“It’s ok…” Neal murmurs before turning to look at the people on the steps again.

Of course she would lie. This is, after all, what adults are best at. Lying. So of course…

Smiling, Neal gets up from the ground. “Okay,” he decides. “We’re good to—”

As his phone rings, he nearly drops Vincent.

It is her. It is that lady. He silences the device. He refuses to look in the direction of the steps leading to the Brooklyn Museum. After a moment the screen goes blank.

Only a second passes before the lady tries calling him again.

“Stop it,” he mumbles.

_[unsaved number: If you run into some sort of trouble on your way here, please let me know. Maybe I can help.]_

Vincent wiggles in his arms.

“Hey!” horrified, releasing Satchmo’s leash, Neal leaves their hiding spot and chases the escapee.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Elle’s hand clutching the phone turned pale. She was starting to lose hope. If she did not manage to contact the boy, no one would. Peter needed a warrant to check phone records. He was not going to get a warrant for no apparent reason. And they had no plausible cause.

For all they knew it might have been just a kid playing a prank on them.

Feeling desperate, she sent another text message.

_Come on, come on, come on…_

“Hey!” someone shouted.

In a daze, she watched a ginger cat jump off the wall and onto the steps of the Museum. The cat took in its surroundings, its tail flicking.

_What…_

And then she saw him.

“Vin!” A little boy followed the ginger blur over the wall. In a hurry, the child stumbled. She watched him reach the cat in a matter of seconds.

_Can it be?_

And then another sound could be heard. The barking of a dog.

With her eyes wide open, she watched the Labrador Retriever jump off the wall. Not only did he sound familiar.

“Satchmo!” nearly dropping her phone, Elle rushed towards the three late arrivals.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Satchmo!” Hearing the woman’s shout from his left, Neal freezes.

He watches the raven-haired lady rush towards them. To take Satch away. To steal him!

“No!”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_Hearing the familiar voice calling his name, Satch pauses in mid-run. He cocks his head and watches the familiar looking two-leg as she rushes towards their pack._

_The two-leg does not just look and sound familiar, he realizes. The-two-leg smells familiar too. The-two-leg… The-two-leg is pack!_

_She-who-smells-of-home! Barking, Satchmo passes the-missing-one. He keeps running until he reaches she-who-smells-of-home, who envelopes him in a tight hug._

_We found you! We found you! We did it! He barks joyfully. He kisses her hands and face. He does not stop barking. You’re unlost! You’re unlost! He whines._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Overwhelmed with emotions, Elle fell onto her knees and chuckling, wrapped her arms around the barking dog. She could not believe it. It was impossible.

“Boy, it really is… How…” She choked on the unexpected tears as the dog continued barking, gleefully jumping around her. “Satch…”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

As Satchmo overtakes him, startled, Neal stumbles mid-run and loses his balance. Unable to regain his footing, he protectively curls his body around Vincent. They hit the ground hard.

Neal looks up. His eyesight wavers. His ears are ringing, everything is blurry. He can hear the dog barking excitedly. He tries to focus on the yellow blur jumping around the woman. Black blends with yellow. The dog whines. He imagines the woman wrapping her arms around Satch. He cannot get enough air. His breathing sounds harsh in his ears.

This… This is the end.

Neal closes his eyes. Vincent is warm in his arms.

They are alone.

Again.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Still in shock, somehow, Elle managed to turn her attention away from Satchmo and look past him. Fear grabbed her heart.

“Sweetie, are you all right?!” Getting up from her knees, she rushed towards the child.

Easily overtaking her, Satchmo ran to the boy she assumed was Neal. She stared at the dog as he tried to get the child’s attention. Neal just covered his face.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_See! We’ve found her! We’ve found she-who-smells-of-home! Now everything is going to be all right, Happily, Satch announces the good news to the pup._

_She-who-smells-of-home joins them. Whining Satch jumps to give her a kiss._

_Your pup! Look! I’ve found your pup!_

_She pats his head and he turns back to the-found-one._

_He pushes his nose into the-little-friend’s fur._

_And the-little-friend! I’ve found him too, he whines joyfully._

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Sitting on the edge of the steps Elle felt uncertain. Instinctively, she reached out to comfort the child. Then she hesitated, her hand hovering uselessly over the boy’s shoulder.

“Neal?” she asked. “Sweetie? Are you all right?”

The child wrapped his arms tighter around the cat, his face remaining hidden from Elle’s sight.

She frowned at his appearance. The clothes he was wearing looked fresh. He looked tidy, or at least as tidy as a boy his age could be. He must have fallen on his right knee. She saw the tear in his black trousers. The blood was seeping through the cloth.

The fall seemed to skin not only his knee but also his elbow. The scratches looked nasty, dirty with the dust, but thankfully shallow.

She cleared her throat. “Sweetheart? Can you look at me?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal does not want to look. He does not want to look at either Satchmo or the lady. Not ever. Hugging Vincent close to his chest, he _regrets ever coming here._

Someone’s hand touches his shoulder. “Neal? Sweetie, can you hear me?”

Satch tries to kiss him again, whining for some reason.

“Go away!” he snaps, jumping to his feet. For a moment it seems to work because both the lady and Satch stop bothering him but then…

Satch jumps at Neal, but before he falls, the lady catches him. She leads him to sit on the steps. “Neal?” she repeats his name without letting go of his arm, her ocean-blue eyes fixed on his. As her face becomes blurry, he blinks.

The lady smiles softly. “Hi, Neal. My name is Elle. We’ve talked on the phone,” she says. He takes a shuddering breath.

He knows that… Does she think he does not know that?

/\\_/\  
='x'=

The boy had a small scratch on his chin, but otherwise the child’s face seemed to be unhurt. She watched him wipe away the tears tiredly. It was hard to keep calm.

Elle forced a smile. She squeezed his arm gently. “Hi, Neal,” she said. “My name’s Elle. We’ve talked on the phone…” she paused, waiting for him to respond.

He did not.

“Sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

He looked away from her.

“I’m ok…” he mumbled and Elle breathed a sigh of relief.

The child turned his gaze back at her. He narrowed his eyes angrily. “You’re here to take Satchmo away!” he accused her in a tone similar to the one she had heard him use on the phone.

Elle took a deep breath.

“No, sweetie,” she said softly. “No. I’m here just to meet you. Meet you and…” her voice cracked. “and Satch,” she whispered. Feeling new determination, she locked her eyes with the boy again. “And I see I can meet Vincent too.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the statement, Neal blinks. Vincent…?

He watches the lady reach out to the cat. “Hi, little one…” She smiles as Vincent starts sniffing her fingers. “I’ve heard so much about you. You must be a good friend of Satch’s too.”

Her eyes for a moment flick back to Neal.

“He is,” he confirms warily.

“I’m glad.” The lady smiles yet again. “I haven’t seen a fluffier cat in my life.” Her tone is kind as she speaks to the cat and after a moment Neal can see Vincent warming up to her. He pushes his head against her palm. “Oh, hi…” She meets Neal’s eyes for a moment. “He’s so soft!” she says.

The lady sits on the step next to them.

“I’m so glad you came,” she tells them. “I was getting really worried, you know…”

“Yeah?” Neal mumbles.

The lady nods.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She shakes her head. “I’m just glad you came.”

She smiles at him.

She is..? Why?

“You’re hurt.” She gestures at his knee and he frowns.

“What?” he asks.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that,” she says. He watches her get up and stop next to one of the people on the steps. And only then does he realize… They are all watching them. His heart picks up a pace. Why are they staring at them? “Hi, I’m sorry, but could you help us? Could you ask one of the Museum employees to give us some first aid kit supplies? As you can see we have pets so we cannot go inside…”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Neal watches the other lady’s gaze flick to him for a moment, then back to Elle. “Of course,” she nods and when Elle turns around, he watches her rushing up the steps to the museum entrance.

_First aid kit?_ Elle sits back on the stairs, next to him. Still smiling.

“Are you hurt?” he asks her uncertainly and she chuckles softly.

“You’re hurt,” she tells him pointing to his knee again for some reason. “I have not seen you fall. Have you hit your head? Does it hurt?”

His head does hurt. It has been hurting ever since he found out about the LOST DOG flyers. Wrapping his arms around Vincent, Neal does not answer. A hand touches his shoulder. “Sweetie?”

He looks back at Elle. “No,” he says. “No, it doesn’t.”

“You sure?” she asks and he nods. “Okay.” She smiles, patting his back. “Okay, don’t worry. I understand.”

Closing his eyes, Neal rests his head on Vincent’s soft belly again. He does not know why, but suddenly he just feels… tired. Very tired. He wishes he would be back at the workshop.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Watching the boy withdraw into himself, Elle did not know what to say next. Not stopping to draw circles on the child’s back, she fished out her phone.

_[Me: Neal came. He looks around 9-12 years old.]_

She did not have to wait long for an answer. Peter texted back almost right away.

_[Hon: Can you handle it?]_

She glanced sideways at the child sitting next to her. She sent another message.

_[Me: Work?]_

That time it took Peter longer to answer. Her hand felt the warmth on the boy’s back.

_[Hon: It’s really important that I locate this suspect. I’ll tell you all about it after it’s over, but he’s young and he needs my help too. Do you want me to send someone else? Or should I come?]_

Elle sighed.

_[Me: I understand. We’re good for now. You’re busy, but will you be able to get home before the op?]_

“Hi!” The voice came from behind her, and when Elle looked back, she recognized the woman she had earlier asked for help with the first aid kit.

“Hi,” she smiled at her, pocketing the phone.

The woman crouched next to them and then gave her the supplies. “They’ve given me hydrogen peroxide and bandages.” She glanced between Neal and Elle for a moment and then stood up.

“Thank you,” Elle said. She turned to look at the child, for all appearances completely lost in his own world.

“Neal? I’m going to patch you up now, okay?” she asked softly.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Someone keeps nagging him. Telling him something. Annoyed, Neal finally opens his eyes and looks up. The stranger gazes back at him. Her eyes are the colour of the ocean. Startled, Neal tries to step back and the woman grabs his hand.

“Neal? Sweetheart, it’s all right,” she tells him. “It’s okay…”

He blinks at her. He knows her. Or at least… He thinks he does.

Satchmo, comes the thought and Neal turns to look at the dog in panic. She is after him. She is going to take him away.

“Hey, breathe, sweetie. Breathe… Look at me.”

He looks up. The lady smiles kindly back at him.

“It’s all right,” she says rubbing circles into his palm. “You’re all right.”

He glances at their hands. Why is she touching him?

“Listen, sweetie. That lady I asked for help before, remember? She came. And look what the museum staff gave us.”

Letting go of his hand, she shows him some bandages and a small bottle. Hydrogen peroxide, reads the label.

“We’ll have a look at that elbow first, okay? You think you can roll up your sleeve for me?”

Elbow…?

He looks at her blankly and she pats his hand.

“Because look, you’re hurt,” she points to his elbow. “Here and here,” she shows him the knee.

Neal frowns. He is not hurt.

The lady strokes his hand again. “Sweetie. Please,” she softly tells him. “Roll up your sleeve.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

She had to repeat the request four times, but finally, the child agreed. She disinfected her hands.

“It’s going to itch a little bit, okay?” she asked him quietly. He did not nod. Nevertheless, she decided against repeating the question again.

He did not flinch when she poured hydrogen peroxide on his elbow. As gently as she could she rubbed on the wound, trying to get rid of the dust. It came off easily. She wondered for a moment whether she should not leave it the way it was, without the plaster. But then, Satchmo made a whine and she, reminded of both him and the cat decided against it. She dried the skin around the elbow, put on the plaster and then wrapped a thin piece of bandage around the boy’s arm. Throughout the entire procedure, she felt his intense electric blue eyes on her.

“Okay, and we’re done,” she said once she was finished. “Now the knee.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

With a trouser leg rolled up, Neal watches the lady repeat her previous steps. She desensitizes his knee and then wraps it around with a bandage.

“All better now.” She smiles up to him. “Any other battle scars I should be worried about?”

“Battle scars?” he echoes.

“Your elbow and your knee are hurt. Are you hurt somewhere else?”

He looks at her.

“Sweetheart?”

Saying nothing, he looks away. She sits next to him. He feels her hand rest on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I won’t get mad,” he hears her say. “I just want to help.”

Help?

“I’m not…” He wraps his hand more tightly around Vincent. “…I don’t need help,” he mumbles.

“Okay,” the lady says. “I understand, Neal.” She takes her hand away from his shoulder and rests it on her knee and…

Neal watches as Satch immediately tries to push his snout under that hand, demanding to be patted. Her smile is troubled as she runs a hand through the dog’s hair. She scratches him behind the ear and Satch licks her hands. He whines softly, his gaze for a moment flicking to Neal.

Neal looks away. He clenches his fists.

Satch missed her.

She missed him.

They missed each other. And so, Satchmo is going to leave. No matter what Neal does.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“…So, you see. That’s why I’m worried about what you’ve told me on the phone. Is it really just Satch and Vincent that are living with you?”

Having received no answer to her question again, Elle sighed. She was no interrogator. She had no idea what to ask or how to act in front of the boy. But right at that moment, she was all Neal had. Looking sidelong at the child's profile, she rubbed her temple.

There was a thousand-yard stare on Neal’s face. But the tears on his cheeks were mostly dry. Deciding to try again, she took a deep breath.

“Listen, sweetheart—”

As the child’s gaze suddenly shifted from Satch to her, so deep was the misery in those young eyes that Elle flinched.

“I don’t want him!”

“…Sorry, what?” she asked.

The boy shook his head. He stood up. “Take him.”

She did not answer. The child pursed his lips, gazing down at her angrily.

“I said, take him!” he shouted.

“I, um,” she stuttered, feeling confused over the sudden change of mood.

Neal looked away from her and wrapped his arms more tightly around the ginger cat. “He’s a traitor anyway…” She heard him mumble.

She stood up. “But sweetheart—”

The little boy abruptly turned on his heel. It had been the only warning she got before he started running madly down the stone stairs, jumping several steps at a time.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Running as fast as he can, Neal does not think. Not anymore. He cannot think. He cannot think or else he will turn back and…

_Woof! Woof! Woof!_

The barking yellow Labrador overtakes him, and Neal abruptly stops. No, why is Satch not with the lady, why is he…

“Street!” He turns around and sees the lady, as she, panting, stops at his side. “There’s a street, the cars,” she breaths out, taking hold of Satch’s leash.

_Oh. So that’s why…_ He turns away.

“WAIT!”

“Don’t!” Neal cries as two forceful hands grasp his shoulders, holding him in place. He spins around. This person turns out to be the bad lady.

She immediately lets him go. Her eyes are wide.

He takes two steps back, his heart is racing in his chest.

She raises her hands in the air and Neal realizes she has not just let go of him, but also of Satch’s leash. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to,” she utters. “Neal, I-I just... D-do not run away, okay?”

Feeling heat on his face, Neal purses his lips. Ignoring Satch’s gleeful gaze at him and his whines, he leans down to grab the leash quickly. He hands it back to the lady.

“Take him,” he says, closing his eyes. “Take—”

She touches his hand. But not to take the leash from him. Instead he feels both her hands close on his own, making his grip on the leash into a fist.

“No,” she quietly says.

“What?” He looks back at her in disbelief.

She shakes her head, patting his hand. She drops her hands to her sides. “Not before we talk.”

What is there to talk about?

Shifting from foot to foot, Neal scrunches his eyebrows. She cannot do this to Satch. She cannot abandon him again! “Just take him!” he cries, trying to give the woman the leash again.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Elle’s heart was still racing in her chest as she gazed down at the angry boy, desperate to figure out how to make him stay and talk with her. Dear God. If it were not for Satchmo, he would have run away.

“No,” she said.

There were angry sparks in his eyes as he gazed at her. But then… Something did change. She watched his hand drop to his side, his shoulders sagged. He heavily leaned on one of the bollards separating them from the street. He was not looking at her anymore.

“You’re changing the rules, ma’m,” she heard him mumble quietly. Instead of angry, his voice was slow and slurred. As if he was physically hurt to say anything. “You said that if I let you… And I let you. Why don’t you want him anymore? What has he… What has he done to you that you don’t want him anymore?”

Looking at him Elle felt a prickle of tears in her own eyes. Her throat was tight. She did not know how to answer. She did not think there was a right answer, really. There was probably so much more to the boy's mind than the mere fear that Satch would not have a home.

She ran a hand over her face and took a deep breath to calm herself. How long was the child up? She got the first call from him around 4 AM. How much sleep did he have last night? There were deep shadows under his swollen and red eyes.

“Sweetie, have you eaten anything today?” she asked softly.

The child’s eyes flicked back to her. “What?”

“Are you hungry?” she asked him again.

He did not answer.

“Because I have an idea. Maybe we grab a bite together and talk some more. I’m sure you have some nice stories to share about your and Satch’s adventures. For example, how you met each other.”

“Um… But…” She watched him wrap his arms tightly around the ginger cat in his arms. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“When do you have to be back home?” she asked him once again, hoping that despite everything Neal had said so far she would hear a reasonable answer.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Um,” looking up at the lady, Neal has to stifle a yawn. When? What should he answer?

The heist is happening around midnight, but is it really what the lady is asking…?

“What do you mean _midnight_?!” the lady echoes and Neal covers his mouth.

Has he said it out loud? But not about the heist, right? She cannot know anything about the heist…

“Sweetheart, you—” the lady hesitates. He has to stifle another yawn. He watches her run a hand over her face and then take a deep breath. “Okay. That’s okay,” she tells him, then holds out her right hand to him. He gazes at it blankly.

“Come on,” she tells him, dropping her hand after a moment. “Let’s grab something to eat.”

He has no idea why he follows her as she starts leading the way.

But he does.

* * *

Next (06.12): **Satch's Mum**


	12. Satch's Mum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews! It’s awesome to see you are still enjoying the story. ❤ I wish I could post more frequently but unfortunately I just can’t right now.
> 
> ~~Anyway, if all goes well I’ll post the next chapter in three weeks (Tuesday 29.12).~~   
>  **Update (29.12): I’m very sorry. It’s Tuesday, but I don’t have a new chapter for you yet. I think I should have the chapter ready by Sunday (03.01). If not, I'll let you know.**
> 
> The illustration should be visible at the end of the chapter. In case it’s not:  
> <https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41829/mother-and-son/>

_"Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, love is not pompous, it is not inflated,  
it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,  
it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.  
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”  
1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (NABRE) _

“Come on,” Elle said, her heart still hammering in her chest from the run. “Let’s grab something to eat.” She turned away from the child, praying that he would follow her.

A moment later, the child caught up with her, his hand still gripping Satch’s leash tightly. Elle smiled.

“I know a nice restaurant where they let in owners with pets. It’s just round the corner,” she said and the boy nodded. “You like pizza?” she asked.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal wraps his hands more tightly around the cat. He closes his eyes. What is he doing?

Why can’t the lady just take Satch and go?

“Sweetheart. I know I have already asked that, but are you sure your head is not hurting?”

Hearing the gentle voice, Neal looks up. The lady smiles down at him. He cannot remember her question anymore. Was it something about pizza?

“I like pizza,” he mumbles.

Elle’s smile brightens. “Great!” she says and then waves her hand. “Come on. We have green light.”

They cross the street and the lady speaks again.

“You know Neal, Vincent’s the weirdest cat I’ve ever met.”

“How so?” he asks quietly.

She nods at Vincent. “Well, he’s just so calm. It’s amazing. You two must go for walks quite often, huh?”

Neal shrugs. He is not sure it is true. When he and Vincent were younger, maybe.

“He easily becomes wild though,” he says after a moment.

The lady cocks her head. “How so?”

“Um…” Trying to find the right words, Neal snuggles his face into Vincent’s fur. “There are just days when I never see him,” he finally says. “But then he does come back and it turns out he did not forget after all.”

“You said something like that on the phone.”

“Like what?”

“Um…” He watches the lady frown. “You sounded upset that Vincent was never home.”

“Oh,” Neal says, then sighs. He rubs his forehead. He does not remember much of that conversation. “Then you must have misunderstood something. I would never be angry with him.”

“Oh, okay. You know, I think it’s completely okay to feel angry from time to time,” the lady says. “Even with your friends.”

“Sure,” Neal shrugs.

The lady chuckles. “I remember times when Satch made me feel angry.”

He looks up and the lady smiles.

“When he was a puppy he destroyed four expensive albums I was supposed to bring to my client. And I found out it happened only minutes before I had to leave home for the meeting. It made me very upset.” The lady shrugs. “But, well. What can you do? Pets are a bit unpredictable like that. Especially the little ones. I felt angry because I cared very much about the meeting. I wanted to make a good impression. So, you see, the anger in that situation was just information about me. What would not be okay was to let my anger overwhelm me and shout at Satch.”

“I did shout at Satch today.”

“Yeah?” Elle asks and after a moment Neal nods.

“Yeah.”

“I understand,” the lady says softly. “It must have been very hard to learn that Satch has owners looking for him. I can see how much you care about him.”

Looking up at the blue sky, Neal does not answer. It does not matter, he thinks. It does not matter what and whom he cares about. In the end… “I knew from the beginning that he was going to leave,” he says, then turns his gaze back at the lady. “There was no way he was going to stay.”

“Why?” she asks.

Looking away, Neal shrugs. Just because.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Looking sidelong at the child’s sad profile, Elle frowned.

She no longer felt her heart breaking through her chest. Which was a relief.

Given more time to think things through, she slowly began to realize that Neal’s situation, despite the worrisome behaviour, might not be as bad as she had initially feared.

The child did not look physically neglected. His clothes were tidy, his face and hair were clean and there were no visible signs of physical abuse. Moreover, both the cat and Satchmo looked equally tidy. That, of course, did not mean that Neal was not a victim of abuse. Even so, at this point, if she were to guess, she would say the child’s behaviour pointed more to some emotional baggage, rather than an ongoing child abuse. Neal’s guardian deserved every benefit of the doubt, considering that he clearly took care of the child’s physical needs such as clothing and food.

Realizing she was not going to find out why Neal thought Satch was going to leave, Elle cleared her throat. “Anyway. I’m very curious how you and Satch met. Would you like to tell me how it happened?”

The boy glanced up at her, looking thoughtful. “We met in Central Park,” he finally said.

“Oh, wow!” Elle exclaimed, glancing down at Satchmo. “Central Park! But it's so far! You are a pretty good adventurer, aren’t you Satch?” She looked back at Neal and saw the boy smile lightly. She grinned back. “Okay. Central Park. Sounds like an awesome story. I’m all ears.”

He blushed. “It’s not really…” She watched him take a deep breath as if to fortify himself. “He robbed a food-stand. It was quite a chase. A PEP officer joined it too. But then, instead of running away like a good thief should, Satch just ran up to me and decided to let me do the explanations for him. And so I did,” the boy said on one breath. Then, he shrugged. “They let us go with a warning. And that’s about it. The whole story.”

That… was some story. Elle opened her mouth to voice a question, then held back. It did not matter if the story was made-up. What mattered was that Neal was talking to her.

“That’s quite an adventure! I’m glad it was you Satch ran into,” she said, smiling.

For a moment, the child’s shy smile became almost a beaming one. But then, a shadow crossed Neal’s face and she watched his shoulders sag again. “But then I left him,” she heard him mumble almost inaudibly.

“You did? Why?”

Neal looked up, then gave her a wry smile. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

Afraid she'd somehow upset him again, Elle nodded. “If you don’t want to talk about—”

“Why did you name him Satchmo?” Neal interrupted her. “I’ve wondered about that sometimes.”

“Oh.” Elle smiled as that was the first real question she had received from the boy. “I like jazz.”

The child’s face was blank.

“Wonderful World?”

He cocked his head at her.

“It’s a song,” she further explained.

Were their generations really so distant that his no longer recognized the title?

“There’s no way you wouldn't know that. You must have heard it on the radio at least once.” Her words did not change the oblivious expression on Neal’s face. Elle chuckled. “Wait a sec. I will play this to you,” she said, fishing out her phone.

She had two new messages. They were from Peter. She ignored them and opened the playlist.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Okay, you have to know this,” the lady says and as the music starts playing, Neal realizes he does indeed know the tune.

“And his name is Satch?” he asks after a moment, glancing down at the dog walking by their side.

“Satchmo, yes. More like a nickname. And was,” the lady explains.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says.

The lady clears her throat. “I did not know him. He died in 1971. Here, in New York, actually.”

“Oh,” Neal says and when the lady says nothing more, but keeps frowning at something on her phone, he decides to nod at the cat in his arms. “You know, Vincent’s also dead.”

Elle pockets her phone. “What?”

“He died in 1853. Mum liked him so we decided to name Vincent after him.”

He watches the lady blink a few times. Then, suddenly, she chuckles. “Oh, wait, 1853! Don’t tell me that you named your cat after Vincent Van Gogh.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

The lady chuckles again. “Wow, I did not suspect that. You named him after a painter! Do you like art?”

Neal cracks a smile. “Somewhat.”

“That’s awesome. Me too!”

“Really?” He looks up at Elle. She is smiling.

“Do you like drawing? Or painting?” she asks.

He and his mum, they used to…

“We could paint something together,” Neal blurts out.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Elle opened her mouth to reply very honestly, only to pause, and not say a word.

She could draw the basics. A flower for her niece, a little fish on the margin of her notebook… Given that the boy’s cat was named after Van Gogh, she doubted that this level of skill was what the child meant by ‘paint’.

But then, something in the question moved her heart and told her that Neal was not exactly asking her about her skill level. Instead he asked about something important to him.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea,” Elle said, hoping that Neal was not that much of an art critic. “What would you like us to draw?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the question, Neal stops mid-step.

He opens his mouth. No words come out. The lady stops too and looks back at him. Still wearing that warm smile and…

“I kind of copy most of the time,” Neal mumbles, looking away. “I don’t have any original ideas.”

“Oh,” Elle says and suddenly Neal thinks how disappointed his mum would be if she ever heard that statement and… “So that means we’ll just have to brainstorm!”

“What?”

“Brainstorm,” Elle says. “You know, come up together with a theme for our drawing.

“I know what the word means but—” Realizing he has started shouting at the lady again for no reason, Neal pauses. He shakes his head. “Sorry ma’m.”

“It’s okay. You’re just hungry, sweetie,” she says softly. “Come on. You can see the restaurant from here. First we’ll eat and then we’ll draw!”

Neal’s hands tighten around Vincent. He tries to say that they do not have to draw, not really, but the words stick in his throat.

When Elle starts walking again he quickly joins her at her side. Looking up at her he cannot help but wonder… Is she one of those artists, creating under a pseudonym? What if she’s a forger? What if...

“Elle, are you famous?” he asks.

Looking amused, Elle shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“That’s okay,” Neal says. “I’m not either.” In his experience, it really is better not to be.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Elle was surprised to feel actually quite hungry. From a corner of her eye she saw Neal put away the menu. “Ready?” she asked and when the child nodded, she put her menu away as well.

“Me too,” she said. “ So. What are you getting?”

“Pepperoni.”

“Okay,” Elle smiled. “I’m going to take the one with zucchini.”

Just as she finished speaking the waitress showed up. It was Anne and she had a look of surprise on her face. “Elle! What in the world!” she chuckled, petting Satch on the head. “Satch’s back?”

Elle smiled. “We have just reunited.” She nodded at Neal. “Neal’s the one who found him.”

“Oh! I’m so glad! I’m Anne.” The boy shook hands with Elle’s friend without hesitation.

“Neal,” he said, flashing Anne a bright smile.

“Anne helped us put up the lost dog flyers. Now we can start taking them off,” Elle explained.

Anne chuckled and patted Satch’s head. “We missed you buddy,” she said. She turned to look at Elle. “So, what can I get you?”

“Two pizzas, pepperoni and zucchini,” Elle said, then turned to look at Neal. “What do you want to drink?”

“Milk,” the boy said.

“And for me macchiato.”

“Okay, gotcha.” Anne nodded and then left their table. Feeling the boy’s eyes on her, Elle turned to look at Neal. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to ask something, but then he must have changed his mind because he looked away and focused his gaze on Satch again.

“So, Neal.” Elle said, deciding to return to the previous topic. “What do you think we should draw first? Maybe Satch?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Maybe Satch?” the lady asks and Neal looks up. “And Vincent. That’s quite a good start, isn’t it? When Anne gets back I’ll ask if they have any spare sheets of paper.”

“…Yeah, okay,” Neal mumbles, resting his chin on top of Vincent’s head. It really has been such a long time since he drew something with mum…

He smiles at Elle and watches her smile back at him.

“Nothing like a warm meal after a long day, huh? Feeling very tired?”

Still smiling, Neal nods.

He watches the lady stifle a yawn. “You and me both, sweetie,” she chuckles. “But it was a good day. I’m glad we met.”

_Me too_ , Vincent meows. And even though Neal is the only one who can hear him, the lady acts as if she heard him too. Because after stifling another yawn, she smiles at him again. Neal reckons he has never seen a smile so bright.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the chime of a text message, Peter immediately put Neumann’s case files away and grasped his phone. It really was from Elle. After more than an hour, she finally replied. He opened the message immediately.

[Hon: I think I panicked earlier. Neal’s a troubled kid, but there are no signs of physical neglect. We just finished eating pizza. My plan now is to talk to Neal some more and then drive him off and talk to his folks. I’ll ask whether they would let Neal walk Satch from time to time. So overall, I don’t think I need your help anymore. I can handle it on my own. I know this case you’re working on right now is important. Lots of love!]

_Satch?_

Feeling confused, Peter immediately pressed the call button.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

After sending the text message Elle pocketed the phone and opened the door to the bathroom.

She was half way to where their table was, when suddenly her phone rang. It was Peter.

“Hon?”

“You found Satchmo?” Hearing her husband’s strained voice, Elle stopped mid-step.

“Oh.”

“Elle, answer, please! That dog the kid found is Satch?”

Feeling guilty, Elle got to the table quickly. “Yes, yes,” she said in a hurry. “I’m so sorry, hon, I—” she paused, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. I thought I told you. Yes. The dog Neal found is Satch. It’s amazing, I know!”

Peter was silent for a long moment.

“…Satch’s back,” she heard him finally say.

She chuckled. “Yeah,” she said, rubbing her hand over her face. She vaguely realized she had tears in her eyes. “Yeah. He’s back,” she whispered and squatted to rest her hand on top of the dog’s head. Then, still smiling, she raised her head to meet the child’s serious gaze. “And it’s all thanks to Neal. He’s the angel who’s been taking care of Satch all those weeks.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Yeah, I understand… Of course… Love you too, bye!” Watching the lady finish her conversation, Neal furrows his forehead.

He does not understand why the lady started crying. But she did. Did the person on the phone make her cry?

He also hesitantly gets down on the floor and hands her a napkin.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Elle smiles. He watches her wipe her eyes. “Thank you,“ she shakes her head and clears her throat. “It was my husband. I somehow forgot to tell him that you found Satch and he— he was very surprised.”

Neal feels something cold clench in his stomach.

“…Sweetie?”

Neal closes his eyes.

“Sweetie, what is it?”

He takes a shuddering breath. “…He does not want Satch,” he whispers.

Elle blinks. “Wait, what?”

“He thinks he’s bad. Bad and a mistake.” Neal wraps his arms around his knees. He wants to hide.

“No, no,” he hears the lady say. “Sweetie, Peter does not think that. He loves Satch and he—” A warm hand rests on his shoulder. “Hey, look at me, Neal.”

He meets her eyes.

The lady gestures to her face. “These are tears of joy, sweetie. Peter would never abandon Satch. And neither would I. Okay?”

“It certainly did not seem that way an hour or so ago,” Neal mumbles.

The lady sighs. “You mean when I did not want to take the leash from you?”

He nods silently.

“Sweetie.” The lady squeezes his shoulder. “But it was not because I wanted to abandon Satch. It’s because I did not want you to have to abandon him.”

Neal shakes his head. “But I have to—”

“No, you don’t,” the lady says. “Even if your uncle does not allow you to have a dog, I’m sure he would not mind if you walked one from time to time.”

“…What?”

“Does it sound like a nice idea to you? You can earn some money by walking Satch.”

Neal shakes his head. This does not feel right. He glances at Satchmo.

“You want me to walk him?” he asks once again, just to make sure.

The lady nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” Again looking at Satch, Neal smiles. “That’s why,” he mumbles, as Satchmo stands up and tries to kiss his face. Neal chuckles and wraps his arms around his friend. He looks back at the lady. She is smiling.

“I would like that very much,” he says.

She lets go of his shoulder. “Then it’s decided,” she chuckles.

They look at each other for a long moment and as they do, Neal realizes… How happy he is. Suddenly, overwhelmed with enthusiasm, he jumps to his feet. “Let’s go,” he says.

The lady blinks. “Go? Where?”

“To Satch’s home!” Neal says as he picks up his backpack and tosses it over his shoulder. “We can go now.” He takes Vincent into his arms again.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Elle looked at the child. She thought his mood had changed far too fast for her to follow. “You want to see where I live?” she asked just to be certain.

Neal nodded.

Elle frowned. It did make sense, she guessed. If Neal were to walk Satch he had to know where they lived. Only… “Listen, sweetie. You do realize we’ll have to ask your uncle for his permission first?”

“What? Why?”

Elle got up from the floor. “Well, because, I’m sure he would be grateful if he knew where you are in your spare time. I think he would like to meet me first.”

Neal scratched his hand. “I don’t think so.”

Elle looked at the boy in silence.

“He does not have to know a thing, Elle.”

“Why? Are you afraid what’s going to happen if he finds out?”

Neal shrugged.

“Will he be mad you met me without asking him first?”

“I guess…” Neal sighed.

Elle smiled. “That’s okay,” she said. “Do you know why?”

Neal glanced up at her.

“Because he cares about you. That’s why,” Elle said. “And I’m sure you know from both school and your uncle that it is not wise for a child to go out with strangers.”

The boy frowned and Elle sighed and sat down.

“Take a seat kiddo,” she said. Hesitantly he obeyed. Elle met his eyes squarely. “It was irresponsible to meet me without telling your uncle… Does he work a lot?”

Neal nodded.

“Is that why you said on the phone you felt like you were living alone?”

The boy grimaced. “I don’t remember—” He bit his lip. “Yeah…” The child lowered his head.

“He works long hours,” Elle stated, remembering what the child said about having to be home around midnight. She watched the boy nod. “Sometimes he is not home until midnight.”

Neal nodded.

“Okay, I understand it can make one feel very lonely. I know I would feel lonely… But sweetheart, ask yourself this question. Would he be mad if he found out that you think if he comes back at midnight, it means you can come back at midnight too?”

“Yes,” Neal mumbled.

Elle nodded. “Why?”

She watched the boy roll his eyes. “Because children like me should not go out at night,” he said, in the tone of a sixth grader reciting a boring poem.

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s dangerous. Just like it is dangerous to meet strangers without telling anyone about it. I know it, your uncle knows it and so do you. But now, since we did meet, we should explain to him the situation. Because keeping secrets like that is never good, okay?”

“…Okay,” Neal said.

Elle could not feel more relieved. “Okay,” she said, getting up. “Let me pay the bill first. Then I’ll show you where I live and maybe, on our way there, you will be able to get your uncle on the phone. Deal?”

The boy smiled. “Deal.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Thank you for everything, Anne,” the lady says after paying the bill with her credit card. Elle has turned out to be one of those adults who do not feel at all that they should protect their PIN when typing it on the terminal.

“You’re giving me back this too? You did not draw anything after all?” Anne asks, looking between Elle and Neal.

“Pizzas arrived too quickly.” Elle smiles.

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Anne chuckles. “Too bad. And here I thought we would have something to add to the wall.” She points behind the counter at the wall covered with drawings.

“Maybe another time,” Elle says. “Take care, ok?”

“You too. It was nice to meet you, Neal.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Neal says and with that they leave. As soon as they are outside, he cannot help but ask.

“But we can still draw at your home, right?”

The lady glances down at him. “My home?” she asks. “…Yeah. Sure, Neal. But let’s call your uncle first, okay?”

Neal looks down and scuffs his foot on the pavement.

“Listen, sweetie,” Elle says. “Sometimes, when the people who care about us are angry, it is because they are worried. I know I would be very worried if my child were to spend a day with a stranger. So we really have to call him.”

Furrowing his forehead, Neal wonders how long the lady will keep saying this. If she does not let it go soon, his chances of walking Satch might be non-existent. On the other hand, maybe, if he stalls long enough… Immersed in this thought, he takes out his phone and dials the number of one of his own burn-phones.

“Thanks, Neal,” the lady says.

“Sure.” Neal smiles, listening to the ringing tone.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“No good, Elle,” the boy said after the fifth try. “He’s not picking up.”

Elle sighed.

“He might be at a meeting,” Neal continued.

“I understand.” She rubbed her forehead. “Has he told you he’ll have a meeting today?”

“We do not really talk about his work.” Neal shrugs.

She nodded. “You know what his job is?”

“Businessman?”

“Businessman,” Elle repeated. “And what does he do?”

“Business.”

“Business.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, Neal. Here’s what we’re going to do. Let’s take a break and call your uncle in an hour. Okay?”

“Or I can give him your number,” the boy helpfully offered. “Then, tomorrow, as soon as he has time, he can call you back.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay, that can work.”

The child beamed at her.

Elle frowned. “Still, I’d rather contact him before tomorrow.”

“He’s really busy,” Neal said, a bit irritably.

“I understand…” She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “And does he have an assistant or—”

“I don’t know.”

Elle tried to put a lid on her growing frustration. Neal was not being unhelpful on purpose. “Maybe there is someone else who is taking care of you when he’s unenviable? Someone you could call in case of an emergency?”

The boy’s mouth drew into a thin line. “Uncle’s all I need!”

“…Okay. I understand, kiddo. Then we’ll try to call him again within the hour.”

Neal instantly brightened. “Sure!”

Glancing at the hour, Elle furrowed her forehead. She would really feel better if the boy’s guardian did pick up. Inviting someone’s child to her home did not sit well with her.

“Once we do reach him, I'll have to sincerely apologize to your uncle,” she told Neal with a sigh. “You’d better think about your apology too, Neal. If you were my kid, I would probably ask you to write an essay on why meeting strangers is a very bad idea.” Neal was silent. Elle stopped mid-step.

“Look at me sweetheart,” she said.

He did.

“You need to understand how serious this situation is. You know there are people who just pretend to be nice, oftentimes using dogs like Satch to get closer to children?”

“Oh, please,” the boy snorted. “You’re not.”

“No.” Elle squatted to meet his eyes. “No, I’m not, sweetie. But the thing is, you don’t really know me. For all you know, I could be just pretending to be nice to you.”

The boy huffed, still not impressed. He clearly did not want to listen.

She hesitated. She was unsure whether it was even her place to make him understand. Nevertheless, she decided to give it another try.

“Listen, Neal. I am glad we met. But you’re just a child, okay? And I’m neither your teacher nor a neighbour, nor your uncle’s friend… He does not even know I exist. I think that’s why he’s going to be angry. At me, mostly. Because something bad could have happened today if I were someone else.”

Neal was silent. His gaze was unreadable, but at least he no longer looked mutinous.

“I understand you feel lonely, sweetie, but there really are adults who will take this against you, if you give them a chance. That’s why it’s so important to seek out friends wisely, okay? It’s summer, so I understand you don’t have any classes, but maybe there are some interest clubs your uncle might enrol you in.”

“Interest clubs?” Neal echoed blankly.

“Yeah. Maybe some painting classes for example? Or baseball classes? Somewhere where you could meet children of your age.”

Instead of looking interested, the boy began to look sad. Elle would give anything to know what was going on in that head of his. “But that’s the conversation that I’ll have with your uncle once we meet,” she finished. “For now, let’s just go home.”

She stood up, but when she started walking, Neal did not follow. She immediately turned back. “Sweetie?” she asked. She knew she was making a lot of assumptions about Neal’s situation, but hopefully once she meets the child’s guardians some things will become clear and…

Unexpectedly, the boy took a step forward and, with Vincent still tucked under his arm, snuggled his face in her shirt.

“Sweetie?” Elle said.

“I love you,” the boy mumbled. Which could not be right. She must have misheard it.

“Sweetheart?” she asked uncertainly.

Neal’s eyes were full of tears when he looked up. “Can I stay overnight?” he asked.

“…Neal—”

“Not today! But for example tomorrow! Tomorrow.” The words rushed, tumbling over each other. The expression in Neal’s eyes was pleading. His hands tightened on her shirt.

“Neal…” Elle said, trying to gather her thoughts. “Sweetie,” she took a deep breath. “Wouldn’t it make your uncle worried?”

“I won’t tell him!”

“Neal, what did I just tell you about—” she paused. Feeling a bit dazed, she looked around. Her eyes stopped on a bench. “Come on,” she told the child. “Let’s sit and talk, okay?”

Neal nodded and let go, taking a step back. Scrubbing his eyes, he followed her without protest.

When they sat, Elle still felt at a loss on what to say. She watched the boy put Vincent down on the bench next to them, then wrap his arms around his legs.

“You don’t like your uncle?” she quietly asked after a moment.

“No, I like him!” the child protested vehemently.

“Okay.” Elle nodded. “But you don’t want to live with him.”

Neal shrugged.

“Since when have you two been living together?”

Saying nothing, the boy hid his face from her. With slight hesitation, Elle rested her hand on his back. “Sweetheart?” she asked.

“My uncle’s the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she heard the boy mumble.

“Yeah, okay, but then why did you—”

Neal looked up. “I HATE YOU ELLE!” he cried and jumped to his feet.

Elle wasn't thinking anymore. Instead of asking for anything, she just stood up and gently wrapped her arms around the child’s fragile form. She was afraid to hold him too close, but then, after a moment, Neal relaxed and did reciprocate. Snuggling his face in her shirt again, the boy wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.

Never in her life had Elle felt so lost as to what to do next. She opened her mouth to ask a question, then realized she no longer knew what to ask. What was worse, she was starting to have tears in her eyes too.

“It’s ok, sweetie.” She led him to sit on the bench next to her. She rested her hand on his back. “All right. You’re safe… I’m here.”

Neal took a shuddering breath.

“I miss mum,” he mumbled, his voice broken.

Her heart sank. Her hand on his back froze.

“When was the last time you saw her, sweetie?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“Three years ago,” the boy said hollowly.

Elle resumed rubbing his back.

“Did something happen to her?” she asked softly after a moment.

In her arms Neal was trembling. “I don’t think so,” he whispered. “I think she forgot about me, though.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” Elle tightened her hug.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal does not know how long the lady has been holding him close. But it must have been a long time, because when he hears her say his name again, it is from a distance, as if he was sleeping. Only after the third pronouncement of his name does Neal finally manage to open his eyes.

Elle smiles down at him. Her eyes are reddened.

“Come on, sweetie,” she quietly says. “I see you’re tired. My home is just around the corner from here.”

Rubbing his eyes, Neal gets up. “I can’t stay overnight though,” he tells her, sleepily. “Uncle would be mad.”

“Yes, of course,” Elle says.

Neal picks up Vincent and she takes his free hand. Her hand feels so warm. He wants Elle to hug him again.

“Elle,” he mumbles as they start walking again.

“Yeah?” she looks down at him.

“I’m going to walk Satch everyday now, okay?”

“Okay,” she quietly says. She squeezes his hand. “Okay, Neal. I would like it very much.”

Neal looks straight at Satch walking by their side. The dog smiles at him, wagging his tail. He is so happy.

* * *

Next ( ~~29.12~~ 03.01): **Satch’s Home**

**Update (29.12): I’m very sorry. It’s Tuesday, but I don’t have a new chapter for you yet. I think I should have the chapter ready by Sunday (03.01). If not, I'll let you know.**


	13. Satch's Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I really wanted to wish you all the best, especially now, when some of you may be having a difficult time. May peace be on your lips and in your hearts. ❤ :)
> 
> I'm very sorry for the delay. On Tuesday I updated notes for Chapter 12 to let you know that I was going to be late. In the future, if such a situation happens again, I will let you know about it the same way.
> 
> I’m planning to post the next chapter in six weeks (Sunday 14.02).
> 
> In case the illustration is not visible:  
> <https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/41877/shoe/>

_“Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, love is not pompous, it is not inflated,  
it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,  
it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth._ _”  
1 Corinthians 13:4-6 (NABRE) _

Somehow, they managed to get home without any further adventures. Neal seemed to be content in the silence and both Elle’s mind and heart were too chaotic for her to think of anything more to say. The little hand in hers felt terrifyingly fragile. It was almost as if she was not holding Neal’s hand, but his whole fate. She had to contact the child’s uncle as soon as possible.

“We’re here.” Elle stopped and pushed the gate open.

The boy chuckled, letting go of her hand. “Satch knows we’re here!” he said in delight, pointing at the dog as he ran up the stairs and to the front door.

“So he does,” Elle said, closing the gate. Her throat felt tight.

Did the boy really just tell her first that he loved her, then that he hated her, and then that he wanted to stay at her home? What happened to his mum? And why was his uncle not picking up?

“Oh, that’s why you chose 106! That’s awfully lazy, Elle!” Neal said as she got to the top of the stairs.

She blinked. “What?”

The boy grinned. “Your PIN. It’s not safe. You should seriously consider changing it to something more random,” he said.

“My PIN? What do you—” Elle paused. 106. “You saw my PIN?!”

Neal stopped smiling. His eyes took on the wild, frightened expression she had already known before. She wanted to kick herself for her lack of calm. The poor child needed her calm. Even if… He spied on her PIN somehow when she was paying for pizza.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I did not mean to raise my voice,” she immediately apologized, ceasing to search for the keys. Then, suddenly, she chuckled. “Oh, you’re right,” she turned to look at Neal in awe. “You know I did not think there was a connection until now?” She shook her head and snorted again, as she realized… that Peter hadn't noticed it either. They lived at Cambridge Place 106 and part of her PIN consisted exactly of those three digits. Exactly the same order.

“Thanks for the tip, kiddo,” she said.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Smiling in relief, Neal nods. Not that it is useful to have a good password when you enter your PIN the way the lady does. He decides not to say it though. She does not seem to be a forger after all. Maybe an anonymous artist then?

He would like her to be an anonymous artist. They would have a lot to talk about then.

“Okay, found them,” Elle says and then turns the key in the lock. Neal does not have to go inside to know Mister Keller would not find anything of value in there. The lock says it all.

She opens the door and Satchmo immediately runs inside. Neal pauses on the threshold. Cautiously, he takes a look around.

He notices a plant – some exotic kind, a blue chair and…

“The rug says _wipe your paws_ ,” he mumbles.

The lady chuckles. “Yep, it does. But Satch never listens anyway.”

He meets her eyes. “Well, it’s not like he can read…”

She smiles. “Unfortunately not. He knows sit, paw and fetch but… That’s about it, I guess. Stay is still a headache.”

Neal enters the house. Snuggling Vincent close to his face, Neal cocks his head at Elle. “What do you mean?”

“Let me show you,” she says. “Satch!”

Satch comes running back. Before he can jump at her, the lady extends her hand in a stop gesture…. And the dog comes to a halt. “Sit!” Elle then commands.

Surprised, Neal watches as the dog obeys again.

“I did not know he could do that!” He has had no idea Satchmo could actually _understand_ him!

“Huh.” Elle gives him a smile. “Okay, then watch,” she turns to look at Satch, who is now smelling large, black tuxedo shoes. “Satchmo!” The dog happily abandons the task and jumps back to her. “Sit.” The dog sits. “Paw!”

Satchmo gives Elle his right paw and she shakes it.

“Good boy!” Elle smiles.

“Aw!” Neal exclaims and squats next to Satchmo. He puts Vincent down on the floor.

“This is my most favourite one, Neal. Watch.” She turns to look at Satch. “Satchmo, slippers! Slippers,” she says.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_He is so excited. Finally, they have made it to the Burke-den. Finally, he can rest. But where is he-who-smells-of-home? Is he still lost?_

“Satchmo, slippers!” _she-who-smells-of-home says. Satch cocks his head._

_It does mean something. He knows it does. He whines._

_Hesitantly, he looks around the room. There are so many smells here. So many new smells! It is amazing and so wrong at the same time. He cannot smell himself anymore. This needs to be fixed._

_“_ Slippers,” _she-who-smells-of-home says yet again._

_Overcome with joy, Satch barks. Then, in one quick move, he picks up the shoe that smells of he-who-smells-of-home. He brings it to she-who-smells-of-home and then runs for another one._

_Where is he?_ _he barks._

“Amazing!” _the-found-one whines._

“Good boy,” _she-who-smells-of-home chuckles._ “Though I meant my slippers and not Peter’s poor shoes.” _She takes another shoe from Satch and then ruffles his fur._

__

/\\_/\  
='x'=

After lovingly petting Satch one last time, Elle gets up from the floor. “Feel at home, sweetie. Come on. I’ll show you around,” she says.

Curious, Neal follows.

“Here’s the living room,” the lady says as they leave the entryway. Just outside of it, on the wall on his right, there is a security control panel. Further on, there are comfy looking sofas placed around a fireplace. “The bathroom is the first door on the left, if you need to use it.”

He nods, staring at the warm, pastel colours of the house. This place would really be completely worthless to his mentor. Something on his right catches his eye. It is a reproduction of the _Almond Blossoms_. “You like Vincent too!”

Elle smiles. “Yeah, I do. Peter got it for my birthday.”

Neal frowns. This Peter the husband again. He already does not like him. He tries to ask a question, when, behind the lady, he spots another familiar artwork. Amazed, he runs towards it. This time, it is a reproduction of a pastel drawing. “And you like _Stanisław_!”

The lady joins him. “Stanisław Wyspiański, yeah,” she sighs and for a moment, Neal thinks she looks almost sad. Then, she meets his eyes, smiling softly. “What do you like about his art?”

“This one is called _Motherhood_ ,” Neal says, somewhat cautiously. Elle’s smile gives him the courage to continue. “He made a lot of pastel drawings with that name, but this one he completed in 1904 which… I mean,” he snorts, pointing eloquently at the date written under Wyspiański’s signature, “is in a way obvious…” his voice trails off as he looks at the artwork again. “This is his wife, Teodora, holding one of their children in her arms… Staś, maybe? I know he was the youngest and he does, kind of, look around three here.”

Elle sits on the edge of one of the armchairs. “You really know a lot Neal.”

“Was it a birthday present too?” he asks.

Looking away, the lady shakes her head. “No, Peter gave it to me shortly after we had learned about our first—” she breaks off abruptly and reaches over to pat his arm. Her smile seems a bit fragile. “It does not matter now, sweetie. Tell me, are you hungry? We can make some dessert if you want to.”

“Yeah?” he asks a bit warily. She is not angry with him, is she?

Elle nods. “Come on. Let’s see what we have in the fridge.”

After giving the reproduction one last, thoughtful glance, Neal follows the lady into the kitchen. He distractedly takes note of two more framed pictures but does not ask about them. His eyes are on Elle.

He watches her open the fridge, then frown at its contents. She glances at him.

“Okay. I say we bake chocolate chip cookies.”

“Bake?” Neal echoes.

“Would you like to help me?”

Can he? “I’ve never baked anything before.”

Except for the paintings maybe. He knows how to _age_ those.

“That’s okay. It’s very simple.” Elle takes out milk and eggs and puts them on the table. “All we need is…”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Elle knew she had switched to baking due to stress. She found cooking to be calming. And she needed to be calm if she were to help the boy.

Neal was happy to help. After giving the water to both Satch and Vincent, they prepared the dough together. She was just finishing placing the rounded spoonfuls of dough on the baking tray when Neal helped himself to one of the little bowls from the cupboard and poured milk into it.

Almost the very moment he finished, the ginger ball of fluff jumped onto the table top and started to lap the milk thirstily. While his cat was on it, Neal started drinking milk too - straight from the bottle. Elle had to hide her amused smile.

She glanced sideways at Satch and thought once again, that the dog… Looked a little rounder around the edges since the last time she had seen him. Remembering how Satchmo had eaten nearly half of the child’s pizza in a restaurant, she could not say she was surprised. Whining, Satchmo rested his front paws on her legs as she patted his head. He was not going to take much liking to the upcoming dietary change, she knew.

She felt Neal’s gaze on her and turned to face him. “Do you want to ask something, sweetie?”

“Um,” she watched the boy run his hand over Vincent’s fur and struggled to keep her face neutral, seeing where the hair was about to land. _The poor cookies._ “Vincent may or may not be hungry for tuna.”

“Oh.” She creased her brow. “Do we have tuna?”

She could not remember. She opened one of the drawers, then another one. Neal stood by her side. She felt his presence just as before. Like a little, so very fragile responsibility that she did not feel prepared for. They had to try calling his uncle again.

“Will salmon do?” she finally asked, as the last can turned out to be just tomato puree.

“Yeah,” the boy easily agreed and she gave him the can and a small plate. In a moment of clarity, she took the child by the arm and gestured to the counter on her right, away from the cookies.

“Vincent can eat there, okay?”

“Sure,” Neal nodded and opened the can. Elle picked up the bowl of milk and moved it so it sat by the child’s elbow. Almost immediately, Vincent jumped off the table onto the counter, purring loudly, followed by a tornado of fur. As Neal served Vincent the tuna, Elle stifled a sneeze.

The oven beeped. “It’s ready,” Neal announced happily.

Smiling, Elle looked down at the dear child. “Looks like it,” she nodded. “But how about if we pick out all that fur first?”

“Fur?” Neal asked, just as Elle picked up the first few strands of hair that had found their way into the dough. “Oh…” he said, a moment later.

Elle chuckled softly, meeting his eyes. “As a dog owner I’m very familiar with the problem. I don’t know about cats, but with dogs at least, brushing them daily helps.”

“Really? I never brush Vincent,” Neal said, helping her pick out the cat's fur.

“Oh? But he looks so clean!” Elle glanced sideways at the long-haired cat.

“Huh.” For a moment, the blue eyes on her were thoughtful. Then, Neal shrugged. “Maybe it’s because he does not mind water.”

“You bathe him?”

“Sometimes,” the child said. “When he gets too stinky. When I tried to bathe Claude though, he immediately ran away and avoided me for a week.”

Elle frowned. Claude? Another cat?

“Claude the Original, I mean,” Neal said after a moment, not looking up from his task. “Claude The Second would never have come close enough to me that I could pick him up. I only managed to pet him two or three times. While he was eating tuna.” The child paused, then took a cautious look at Elle. “Do you think that’s why he does not come anymore?”

She blinked. “Who?”

“Claude The Original. Because I tried to give him a bath…”

“But you’ve said he did come, avoiding you for only a week.”

Neal’s gaze grew distant. He shook his head. “Yes, but then after just a month or so he disappeared. And I haven’t seen him since.”

“Was he a stray cat?” Elle asked, just to make sure they were on the same page.

The child nodded.

“Well, maybe he found a family. Maybe someone adopted him and that’s why he could not visit you and Vincent anymore.”

Neal gave her a fleeting smile that faded as quickly as it appeared. “When I asked my uncle about it, he told me the stupid cat probably got run over by a car.”

Elle’s stomach tightened. “And what do you think?” she asked in an even tone of voice.

Neal cocked his head at her. “Huh?”

“If you were to guess, what do you think happened to Claude?” she clarified.

“Oh.” The child furrowed his forehead. After a moment he shrugged. “I don’t know. In the street people disappear all the time.”

_What?_

Neal smiled. “Still,” he said. “If I were to guess I would say he just betrayed us.” Neal chuckled. “That’s what Satch told me when I interrogated him.”

Elle shook herself. “Sweetie, I thought Claude was a cat.”

Neal glanced up at her, confused. “He is.”

“Oh, okay,” Elle nodded, still feeling a bit strained. “So… Claude betrayed you?”

Neal’s shoulders stiffened and his expression shuttered. He looked away. “I know cats can’t betray, ma’m,” he said tightly.

“Maybe they can’t,” Elle agreed, trying to hide her surprise at his change of mood. “Nevertheless, it was an interesting story you told me. I would be happy to hear more. You’ve said you interrogated Satchmo?”

The child’s expression remained blank. “Don’t talk like that Elle. Dogs can’t talk so they can’t be interrogated,” he said tonelessly, still not looking at her.

“Yes, of course,” Elle said mildly. She gave the child a soft smile. “I think it’s nice to imagine stories sometimes.”

Neal did not seem to hear her. “The cookies are clean now.” His gaze flicked back to her. “Ma’m,” he added stiffly.

Elle blinked. “Okay,” she nodded. “Want to open the oven for me?” she asked putting on the gloves.

Neal obliged without a word. They put the cookies inside. “Now what?” he asked.

Elle glanced at the clock. “We have to wait ten minutes. Meanwhile we can clean the kitchen, if you want to help me.”

“I do,” the child mumbled.

“Thank you,” Elle said warmly. Neal looked up. “You’re a great help, sweetie.”

“I am?”

Elle smiled. “You are,” she reassured him. “It’s really fun to have someone to cook with.”

Neal’s shoulders relaxed. “I think so too,” the child quietly said. “Elle,” he added.

“I’m glad,” she said softly, and Neal’s guarded lack of expression turned into a sort of a smile.

The boy took a look around and after spying the sponge, he wet it and started to vigorously clean the countertop. Bemused, Elle joined him. She grabbed the baking mat, put it in the sink, and turned on the water.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“They’re ready!” Elle says, abandoning the dishcloth and putting on the oven gloves again. Neal stands by her side, curious to see what the freshly baked cookies will look like.

“They surely smell good,” he says.

The lady nods. “Yeah. But be careful, the tray is ho— Neal!”

Holding the hot cookie in his hand, Neal freezes. Has he done something wrong?

“Wait for it to cool or else you’ll burn your tongue.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, putting the cookie on the table.

“That’s okay. I was just worried,” Elle says, taking off the gloves. He watches her take a deep breath, as if to brace herself. “Now we just have to wait a couple more minutes. So maybe in the meantime we give your uncle a call?”

Neal sighs. Not this _uncle_ thing again. “He’s probably still busy.”

“We should still try to call him again.”

Neal tries not to roll his eyes as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He dials the number. _His own number_. Or rather the number of one of his still clean burn-phones.

Out of a corner of his eye he watches Elle move the cookies from the tray to the bowl.

“I was right. He’s not picking up,” he tells her after the ringing signal ends.

“That’s okay. Try again,” she says, taking the bowl, her coffee and his half-drunk milk bottle into her hands. “Let’s move to the living room.”

Dialling the number again, Neal follows Elle. She guides him to a comfy looking corner with sofas and armchairs lined up around the fireplace. She puts the bowl and drinks on the coffee table and sits down on one of the sofas. Neal drops down beside Elle and gives her a surreptitious look.

What exactly is her deal? Why does she want to contact ‘his uncle’ so much? He hopes that she will let go of the subject after he calls her tomorrow and gets Mil to pretend to be his uncle. Come to think of it, he probably should not be using Mil for that. Someone else then. Someone less willing to tell Mister Keller about the whole ordeal. Mister Morris, maybe? He had known the adult for just one day but he seemed alright. And he told Neal that he liked dogs, so provided that Neal would explain the situation to him and agree to do a little favour in return for this-

“Still nothing?” Elle’s question intrudes on his thoughts.

“No,” Neal shakes his head sadly.

He watches the lady rub her temple. “That’s okay,” she sighs. “We’ll just try again in a little while.”

Relieved, Neal pockets the phone.

“Okay,” he says and then grins as the lady picks up the bowl with the cookies and offers it to him.

“I’m waiting for your verdict. Are we a good team of cooks, or not?”

He enthusiastically takes the offered snack and stuffs it in his mouth. The cookie is still warm and the chocolate is melting on his tongue. It tastes nothing like those packaged cookies he sometimes buys. “This is delicious!” he says around the crumbly goodness in his mouth.

Elle chuckles. “I completely agree. Good team effort.”

Neal grabs another cookie.

“So, what do we do now? Do you want to draw?”

“Oh,” he says. He completely forgot about that promise. “Okay.”

Elle gets up. “Be right back with the supplies,” she says briskly.

Munching on the cookie, Neal thinks it is hard to believe that there are only a few hours left till the heist… He stifles a yawn. He really hopes Mister Keller knows what he is doing. After a moment, Satchmo climbs onto the couch next to Neal and pushes his big head onto his lap, demanding scratches. Neal lazily strokes the dog’s ears. He is so tired.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

The moment Elle was in the kitchen, she took out her phone. Looking at the hour, she suddenly realized she would need Peter’s help after all. It was past 8PM already and the child’s uncle was still not picking up. She could not imagine driving the boy to the empty house. If his uncle did not call back soon, she would just have to drop the child off around midnight when the man was supposed to come home from work.

However, at that hour, it would not be wise to go alone and she could use some help either way.

After writing to Peter, she quickly opened one of the drawers of her desk. She searched it for any art supplies she could find. There were not so many of them. Four highlighters, two pencils, five pens… At least blank sheets of paper she had plenty of.

They would have to make do with what they had. If Neal liked to paint, she would buy more suitable painting materials tomorrow.

When she came back to the living room, she found the child snuggled on the couch, with Satchmo as his pillow. As she came closer, Neal opened his eyes.

“You’re back,” he said, sitting up and stifling a yawn. “Did you find them?”

“Yeah.” Elle said and put the supplies down on the coffee table.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal frowns at the bundle of office supplies that the lady has brought. All the pencils are HB. Looking at the highlighters hurts his eyes. The pens are black and blue… This whole set in fact is for taking notes, not drawing.

“Honestly, sweetie, I don’t have any other supplies because I don’t really draw very often,” Elle says, as if reading his thoughts. “I hope that’s okay with you. We can still have fun drawing with what we’ve got, right?”

Neal is not so certain they can. Elle, on the other hand is. He watches her sit cross-legged on the carpet and then glance back at him, a gentle smile on her face. “When I was around your age, I used to fill the margins of my notebooks with doodles,” she says. “It was something to do when the lessons were unbearably boring. Is that still a thing at school?”

He does not know. He never went to school.

“Sure,” he says aloud. Elle smiles.

“I think I want to draw Vincent.” She picks one of the miserable looking pencils. “I told you this before, but I’ve never met a more laidback cat. The way he keeps calm and lets you carry him everywhere… If I saw you two walking down the street, at first glance, I would have mistaken Vincent for a small, ginger dog. Though I probably should not have said it as it might be insulting to the cat,” she quips.

Neal cannot see her drawing from this angle. He tries to twist his neck to see, but Elle is just in the way and… Struggling out of Satch’s hug, Neal slides off the couch to the floor. The dog opens one eye and yawns heavily, then just curls up in a different position and closes his eyes again. Someone needs a nap. Ignoring Satch, Neal sits on Elle’s left and…

“Huh,” he mumbles, seeing the caricature that most definitely is not his friend.

“Would you like to tell me how you met Vincent?” Elle asks, looking up from her doodle .

“Not really.” Neal shakes his head, his eyes still focused on the doodle. It is not very good.

Like, _at all_.

He watches the lady draw three whiskers each on the sides of the cat’s face.

“Oh. Okay. So maybe you want to hear the story of how Satch got adopted?” Elle asks.

“Sure,” Neal mumbles. He thinks that Elle can still be just pretending to be an amateur, but…

“Okay. So I think it was about… Six years ago,” Elle says. “With Peter we were…” Not much interested in the story, Neal keeps glancing at the lady. He lets her words wash over him and his thoughts rush.

No, he decides after a moment. She would not lie about something like this. So… Elle cannot paint.

Slowly, he takes a blank sheet of paper.

But if someone cannot paint, is it not an even more important reason for them to stick around someone who can?

For example, Mister Keller can paint, he just dislikes doing it, and therefore needs Neal, but if his mentor could not paint… Wouldn’t Neal be even more valuable to him then?

Neal glances at Satch, who is peacefully napping on the sofa. This is a very high-stakes game, he suddenly realizes. He has to be perfect.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing the soft rustle of papers, Elle smiled but tried to hold back her curiosity for the moment. She focused on finishing her doodle. The cat only lacked a tail.

There. She eyed her handiwork with a critical eye. It was… A bit crooked maybe. Should she draw Satchmo now? Her eyes strayed over to Neal. She suppressed her amusement as she watched his tongue stick out from the corner of his mouth in childlike concentration. He looked cute. She looked distractedly at the sheet of paper the boy crouched over. She always liked children’s drawings and was very curious about what he came up with.

At first she was not sure what she was looking at. Then she understood. From among the maze of confidently but slightly marked construction lines, was emerging not one figure but several, a whole complex, dynamic scene. The captured movement perfectly conveyed the emotions, combined with a perfectly selected composition and a dramatic angle, the viewer could not help but be drawn in. Mesmerized, she watched the drawing come to life with every stroke, every broad gesture, and every tiniest detail. A PEP officer, a running dog, a confused little boy. All of them within a beautifully sketched Central Park. She blinked. And an apparently furious, bellowing man rapidly closing in on them. It was a mapping of Neal’s first encounter with Satchmo, there was no doubt about it.

Elle relaxed. She loved watching live drawing shows hosted by artists. She settled into a more comfortable position and rested her head in her hands.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal’s final touch is the collar that Satchmo lost on the second day. He knows that the lady has been watching him draw almost since the beginning, but only now, as the drawing is finished, does he really feel her eyes on him for the first time. He clenches the pencil in his hand.

Is it good enough? Mister Keller would probably say no.

Neal bites his lip. His mentor is good at pointing out all of Neal’s mistakes, wherever he can find them. Which is good. After all, they want to pass the paintings for originals. He wishes his mentor could be here, with him, to tell him what to do next and how to talk to the lady. He really needs his expertise. He is not sure if he can-

“Finished?” Hearing the soft question, Neal looks up. Elle is smiling at him.

Glancing down at the drawing, Neal nods slightly. This is bad, he thinks. He should have chosen a different subject. He should have copied someone else’s drawing.

“That’s how you and Satch met, isn’t it?”

He forces to nod his head.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but is that the owner of the food-stand Satch has robbed?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Elle chuckles. “So he joined that chase too?”

Looking sidelong at Satchmo, Neal clenches his fists, his nails digging painfully into the skin of his palms. He will have to come back to the empty workshop tonight. And the night after that too. Because the drawing sucks and Elle must now believe he will not be able to forge anything for her. She thinks he is useless and it is his fault. And if it turns out that Mister Keller is wrong in his calculations, if it turns out that Mister Neumann somehow found out about the betrayal… There will be no one to turn to when his mentor’s whaling plan is destroyed.

“I can― I can draw better,” he hears his whisper. “This pencil is trash, that’s why―” he pauses, his eyes return to Elle. It was she who has given him the pencil. “I mean, it’s not like that, it’s just―” he clumps his mouth shut. He puts his forearms on the table, trying to hide the stupid drawing. He can feel its edges crumbling. Maybe it is okay, he tries to reason with himself. Maybe Mister Keller’s plan will work and he will not need Elle. Yeah. Probably. Mister Keller has promised.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Sweetheart!” Elle gasped and reached out to save the drawing. In response to her cry, the boy leaned even more protectively over his work. What is going on? “Sweetie,” Elle repeated more calmly. “Let me see it, please?”

The distrust in Neal’s eyes was evident. After a while, the boy slowly raised his elbows and deliberately shifted the drawing to her side of the table.

Elle delicately pulled the drawing closer to herself by its edges, taking care not to damage it further. She considered it carefully. She felt she was holding something precious in her hands.

“It’s a lovely drawing, Neal,” she said softly, looking at him with a soft smile. She looked down. “I really like how varied your strokes are. Each area holds so much interest, the interplay of shadows, the textures. Not a single part of it is boring, there are so many details. And yet the eyesight immediately turns to the main subject, the action. The composition is what really sets it apart, I think, you’ve truly nailed it, Neal.” She looked up and flashed him a smile.

The boy’s blue eyes were alert as he gazed back at her.

She pushed the drawing towards the centre of the table, studying it. She tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. It was not hard to say what she liked. There was not a part of it she did not. But what touched her most, though, was… “I may be biased, but what I like most about this drawing is Satch. I immediately recognized this jumpy, silly pose of his. I’ve seen it so many times during our walks… He is so lifelike in your drawing. All the characters are. Every individual is so distinct, with small features and details that make them unique, and the way you conveyed their emotions… I love when a graphic tells a story, and yours does it so well. In fact, I think each character has their own story to tell. You’ve really brought that moment to life, Neal. Now I feel as though I was part of your meeting.” She looked up at the boy in front of her, her eyes shining. She enjoyed talking about art so much that she sometimes forgot herself. “What about you, Neal, what do you like best about your drawing?”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Elle likes it. Elle likes this drawing. Elle… She really does like it. He swallows the bile in his throat and looks away, trying to gather his thoughts. He knows he had a plan, but he forgot… What… What is he to do now?

He looks at her doodle cat. He pulls it to himself, carefully looking at it. He scrunches his eyebrows in concentration. “Uh…” His mind is blank. What should he say? “Uh… Your drawing is interesting too, Elle. It is… cute?” he looks up at Elle. She is smiling.

“Thank you!” She beams at him. Suddenly his face turns hot. He ducks his head and sees the doodle cat again. It is smiling back at him. Would Elle notice if he took it?

His fingers draw idle patterns near the doodle’s left ear. He can do this without her noticing a thing. He is a pro. “I think we forgot to turn off the oven.”

“Oh?” Elle blinks in surprise.

It is the dumbest excuse his brain could have come up with. Neal swallows a grimace, holding her gaze. When did he become such a rookie? “We have to check it,” he insists.

Mister Keller’s rulebook says that if you began, you have to follow through.

“Oh. Okay.” Elle stands up. “I’m thirsty. I think I will make myself lemonade. Would you like a glass?”

“Sure,” Neal nods. This is so dumb. He cannot believe this is working.

Elle picks up the empty milk bottle and her mug from the table. “Yesterday, I bought a mango. I like to invent new lemonade flavours.”

“Cool,” Neal answers, giving her back a single, cautious glance. He follows her, but his attention is focused on the drawing. He has to fold the edges without her hearing the rustle of the paper. Being careful not to crease the doodle cat, he makes the first fold. Three more and it's ready. Stealthily, he pockets the doodle just in time. They are in the kitchen.

“No, it’s okay. We turned it off,” Elle says, glancing at him.

Neal smiles back. “Cool.”

“Let’s see.” Elle takes a mango out of a fruit bowl. Neal perches on the counter stool. While Elle is in the preparations, Neal notices his leftover cookie. The ‘too hot one’. Neal grins and shoves it into his mouth. Elle will be such a wonderful adult to work with, he thinks. Tomorrow, he totally has to start working on a Leonardo or a Raphael for her! Still smiling, Neal rests his chin in his hands.

Hopefully, she will like it even more than she did his drawing.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Jones was on his way to Peter’s office when he met Diana. As it turned out, they had the same destination. His colleague rushed past him, not slowing down until she was inside.

“We know Keller’s location,” she said, as she walked over to their boss’s desk. She gave Peter the file. Jones quickly joined them as they examined it. “Smith’s tailing him.”

“Good,” Peter said, his eyes shifting for a moment from Diana to Jones. Then he looked back at his probie. “And George?”

She shook her head. “No sign of the child, boss,” she said quietly.

“Well,” Peter sighed. “At least we know he’s not with Keller.”

They watched him drum his fingers on the desk. “Good, good.”

He got up from his chair. “It’s good you two are here. We have a change of plans.”

Jones frowned. Change of plans?

“Basically…” They watched their boss pinch the bridge of his nose. “Satchmo’s back.”

“Satchmo’s back?” Diana echoed.

“You mean the dog?” Jones asked, equally surprised.

Peter snorted. “Yes, the dog, Jones.”

“But that’s wonderful―” Diana cut herself off. “Isn’t it?”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose again, then sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “It is wonderful. However, he did not come home alone. A troubled kid tagged along. Elle says the boy looks 9-12 years old.”

“…Like George?” Diana asked, frowning.

Their boss grimaced. “I hope George is older than that.”

“It's a hell of a coincidence after all,” Jones said slowly.

Peter nodded. “And a really bad timing,” he stated.

A bad feeling settled in Jones’s gut. _Change of plans._

“The thing is, his uncle is not picking up the phone. Neal claims there is no one else Elle could call, other than his uncle. What’s worse, he says his uncle will not be home until after midnight. So Elle naturally does not want to let him go by himself. Instead, she set her mind on trying to contact the uncle, and if that does not work, driving the child off around midnight. And then taking the time to talk to the uncle in order to… Well, get a better understanding of the situation and decide whether someone should intervene.”

“She can’t go alone,” both Diana and Jones said almost simultaneously.

“Yeah, I agree,” he said. “And that’s why I called you two here.”

Jones rubbed his forehead. It was not true. Initially Peter called him, not Diana. Her responsibilities were more central during the takedown. He sighed.

“I’ll go,” he said. “Taylor can take over.”

Peter nodded seriously. “Thank you Jones,” he said. “I don’t like this, but… Elle needs someone she can trust on this,” he shrugged. “The kid’s been acting troubled.”

“I understand,” Jones nodded.

“Good,” Peter said. “We’d better get going then.”

“You’re coming too?”

“Yeah. I have to see George 2.0 that Elle had to deal with. Even if only for a moment,” he said, putting on his jacket. “Gut feeling,” he added. Jones and Diana exchanged glances.

“George 2.0,” Jones snorted and Diana chuckled. Her laughter sounded nervous, she too must have already been feeling on edge before the action. Peter was absolutely right. That other kid’s timing could not possibly be any worse.

* * *

Next (Sunday 14.02): **Peter’s Choice**


	14. Peter's Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for your feedback, it always makes me so happy to see that someone enjoyed the chapter. :3 ❤ Thank you for being patient with me too, I really needed to take this break. :)
> 
> If all goes well I’ll post the next chapter in 2 weeks (Sunday 28.02).
> 
> The illustration should be visible at the end of the chapter. In case it's not:  
> <https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/43056/a-difficult-day/>

_“Set before you are fire and water; to whatever you choose, stretch out your hand.  
Before everyone are life and death, whichever they choose will be given them.”  
Sirach 15:16-17 (NABRE)_

“Mum did,” Neal answers quietly, looking away from the lady. “She taught me how to draw.”

“Oh, I see,” Elle says. “You liked drawing together?”

Neal nods, then leans down to offer Satch a piece of mango Elle has sliced for them to eat. The dog sniffs it, but does not eat it. Neal furrows his forehead. “You have no taste.”

Elle chuckles and Neal meets her gentle eyes again.

“She’ll come back, you know.”

Her expression turns serious. “Your mum?”

Neal rests his chin on top of Satch’s head and smiles. “Yeah.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Okay, Jones. We do not know what we’re going to be dealing with here, so for now you should just stay back,” Peter said, glancing sidelong at his subordinate.

“Yes, okay. Though…I’m pretty sure we’ll be dealing with just a kid,” Jones answered, looking confused.

_Just a kid_. _Just like George. George is just a kid too_ , came the reflexive thought. Turning away from Jones, Peter grimaced. He could not think like that about the boy before the heist. After. Not before.

He turned the key in the lock.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_The door opens. Satch jumps on his four paws. Barking, he runs as fast as he can to the door._

“Satchmo!” _the familiar voice bellows._

_You’re found! Joyfully barking, Satch falls into the arms of he-who-smells-of-home_. _I found you! I found you!_

_And by the smell of it, Satch has found he-who-smells-of-burnt-plants too. Looking up at the other two-leg, Satch barks his welcome._

“…I can’t believe it! Look, Jones, it really is him!”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Chuckling, Peter fell to his knees. He hugged Satch and grimaced as the dog immediately began licking his face. How much did he miss him! Clapping the dog’s back Peter laughed.

“Boy, did I miss you!”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Seeing the dog run for the door, Neal stops smiling. He frowns.

“That must be my husband, Peter,” Elle says. “Come on Neal, I’ll introduce you.”

No way. He clenches his fists. _Husband?_ It was not a part of the deal! He glances towards the back door. He has to leave now.

“Neal, what’s wrong?”

The adult is already in the house. Neal can hear his voice through Satch’s barking. He shivers. “We’ll meet tomorrow, okay? This is urgent. I have to go now.” _He is going to hurt me._

“What is urgent?”

Neal bites his lip. Why won’t she listen? He can hear the footsteps in the corridor.

“Hon! I’m home—” The angry adult’s voice wavers. Neal closes his eyes before he can see _him_.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Realizing Elle was not there to greet them, Peter frowned. He motioned Jones to follow him inside. Satch trotted next to his leg, happily continuing to jump on him. “Hon!” The lights were on in the kitchen. “I’m home―”

Both Peter and Jones came to an abrupt halt.

It was impossible.

It could not be happening.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

_See! And this is your pup! I met him while you were lost, Satchmo happily continues explaining the situation to he-who-smells-of-home. He runs over to the pup to lick his hands and only then does he realize that the pup is panicking. He is scared!_

_No, no, no! It’s okay, Satch barks and jumps on the pup. There’s someone you have to meet! See?!_

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Satch!” Surprised by Satch’s sneaky attack, Elle reached out to grab the dog’s collar. She was too late.

A heartbeat later, the boy was lying on the floor, crushed by Satchmo. The dog, happily still moaning, licked Neal’s face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Neal!” She crouched next to him. “Are you al—” she paused mid-word.

The boy’s eyes were no longer closed. Neither he was trying to hide from Peter. Instead, the child was staring straight at her husband and… There was an expression of surprise in his wide open eyes.

As she gestured frantically for Peter to stand back, she focused on keeping her voice calm. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay. Peter’s just as glad to see Satch as I am.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

…Mister Morris?

Neal only half-registers that the lady is saying something.

What is Mister Morris doing here?

Frowning, he notices the man standing behind him. He does not know why, but that other guy seems familiar too. Even though he is quite certain they have never met before.

What if… What if those two are after him?!

“Elle, run!” Neal finally manages to regain his voice.

“No,” the lady shakes her head. “No one has to run away. Everything is alright. Peter’s just as happy you found Satch as I am.”

“Peter,” Neal mumbles, turning to look at Neumann’s man again.

As in _Peter_ Morris.

“Neal,” Neumann’s man squats on the floor while the other one steps back away from the kitchen.

“Hon, I don’t think it’s a good idea—” Elle begins to say.

“You took Satch?” the adult asks.

“I— I f-found him, sir,” Neal stutters. “In Central Park. Two months ago.”

“What’s— Hon, do you know each other?” Elle looks between the two of them.

“I, hon, we,” the adult pauses. Neal watches him take a deep breath, then tears his eyes away from Neal to look at the lady. “I know his uncle, Elle.”

“You do?!” she exclaims.

Mister Morris nods. “Yes, yes. It’s work related and so—”

“I did not mean to kidnap Satch! You have to believe me!” Neal jumps to his feet.

“Yes, kid, I―”

“You can’t be mad!” he interrupts the adult. “You have no right to be mad, you claimed to be a dog person and yet your dog was missing and— and it’s all your fault! Elle says you did not close the front door!”

Only after the last words leave Neal’s mouth, does he realize he has been shouting. He stiffens. “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to… You have a wonderful wife, sir!”

Feverishly thinking of what else to say to placate the adult, Neal looks around the room and…

And that is when his eyes pause on the clock.

10:35 PM. The heist!

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Looking between Peter and Neal, Elle felt more lost than ever. Peter was working with Neal’s uncle? Did that mean that the child’s uncle was an FBI agent?

She opened her mouth to voice that question aloud. “Hon, does Neal’s uncle—”

“Oh, no!” the child’s panicked voice interrupted her. He sprang to his feet and ducked under the table to grab his backpack. “It’s so late! Can you give me a ride, sir?”

“Of course,” Peter said.

“Uncle’s going to be mad if I’m late,” the child said, heading for the door.

In disbelief Elle watched Peter turn on his heel and follow the boy. Where has Jones gone? She could have sworn he was with them a second earlier…

“I’ll go with you,” she said.

Almost immediately Peter shook his head. “No, it’s alright. I’ll drive Neal off. You stay home.”

Elle clenched her fists. “No, I need to go with you to meet—” she paused. “Peter, don’t you have a case—”

“Elle!” Peter’s voice was stern. She watched him shake his head again as if to warn her.

She furrowed her forehead and he took her hand.

“It’s okay,” he said firmly. “I have time. I’ll drive Neal off and after I’m back I’ll explain everything, alright?”

She did not answer. But then someone opened the door and… “Neal!” she gasped, realizing the child was already running outside. She pulled away from Peter and ran after him.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Elle!” Running after his wife, Peter still felt like he was in some kind of nightmare. His case. His case was falling apart.

He watched Elle stop his key suspect. Was it a coincidence? Did the child’s presence mean Keller knew his address? But why send a child then? No, it just did not make any sense. He knew Elle would not tell the child he was an FBI agent. Or would she?

Neal had stayed with Elle, so it seemed unlikely that she had, but…

“…and we’re going to see each other tomorrow, okay?” Elle continued to speak in a reassuring tone to the child.

George’s dazed gaze met Peter’s. As if looking for confirmation. Peter’s throat tightened. He had to save the case. He had to save the case no matter what. Too much depended on…

But he couldn't lie to his wife. It was already like a lie.

"If your husband allows it," the boy finally muttered, looking away from Peter.

Elle strongly nodded. “He will,” she said. “I’m sure he will.” She looked back at Peter and he froze, seeing the relief on her face. Why did she… “I’m inviting you and your uncle for dinner tomorrow. How does it sound to you, Peter?”

Peter gulped. His case.

“Good. I’ll have to ask him first of course,” he said.

The boy furrowed his forehead. “I don’t think that—” he paused, then cocked his head at Peter. “You seriously think he would like to—”

Peter nodded. “Yes, of course, kiddo. Now come on. Let’s take you home.”

He was not taking George home. He was leading George to the heist.

But the case.

Elle took Peter’s hand. “Are you sure I should not accompany—”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, hon. It’s late. And you know about… My plans later on. So it really does not make sense for you to drive with us.”

He was lying to his wife. But he had to save his case. He spent over four years chasing Keller. The man was dangerous. He belonged behind bars.

Elle let go of his hand. She turned to George. “Okay, sweetie. Take care of yourself then. We’ll see each other tomorrow, alright?”

The boy gave her a fragile smile. “Okay, Elle,” he said softly.

Peter winced internally. Once Elle found out the truth, there was no way she would forgive him. And if during the heist something bad happened to George… But _nothing_ was going to happen.

Elle turned away from the boy and leaned to kiss Peter’s cheek. “I’m glad you two know each other,” she chuckled. “For a moment there, you got me really worried. Remember to call me, okay?”

“I will,” he heard his ever-calm voice say.

Elle nodded, her gaze for a moment turning serious. Peter suddenly realized that she was still confused. But she trusted him. She trusted him, so she decided that he would explain everything to her later. He watched her pat his suspect’s shoulder. “Take care, sweetie. See you tomorrow.” She took a step back and grabbed Satch’s collar.

Peter opened the gate and moved to the side to let George pass him. He took out his keys and unlocked the car. Not looking back he got into the driver’s seat.

The child opened the door and took the seat to his right. Elle waved her hand at them.

“Drive safe!” they heard her voice. And so did the recording device hidden in Peter’s wristwatch.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Looking sidelong at the adult’s profile, Neal tries not to sigh. Even though he does not feel hungry, he wishes he had grabbed some cookies before leaving. They have tasted so good…

He has pockets. He could have used them.

Thinking about Elle’s plans for tomorrow, he glances through the window. Somehow he cannot imagine Mister Keller talking to the lady nicely.

It would be different if Elle could paint, Neal thinks. Then Mister Keller would be very nice to her. But since she cannot… Someone in the car clears their throat.

Neal looks left.

“Buckle up, Neal, okay?” Mister Morris asks.

“Huh?”

“Put your seatbelts on,” Satch’s adult repeats.

Mister Keller never tells him to do that. Mister Morris glances at him, their eyes meet for a moment. The serious gaze of the adult makes Neal think he does not want to argue. He does as he has been told.

Then, he realizes something. “Mister Morris?”

The adult glances at him.

Neal looks away. “Mister Keller doesn’t know that name,” he mumbles.

“What?” the adult asks.

“Neal. He doesn’t know it.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want him to know it.” He glances at the adult uncertainly. “…Okay?”

Mister Morris’s eyes are on the road again. “So, he’s not your uncle after all?”

Neal sighs, then shakes his head.

“You’re a runaway?”

Neal frowns. “What?”

“You ran away from home?”

Neal rubs his forehead. He closes his eyes.

“Neal?”

He looks back at the adult in silence. Mister Morris must think he’s a baby, if he expects Neal to tell him. One does not talk about such stuff.

“I’m sorry, George,” Mister Morris says. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

“In exchange for?”

The adult shakes his head. “In exchange for nothing, kid. I understand you don’t want Keller to know your real name.”

Neal nods, then breaths in relief. Suddenly, he chuckles. “He’s going to be very surprised to learn you have a dog, you know.”

Mister Morris’s expression remains serious.

“I cannot imagine tomorrow, the three of you talking to one another,” Neal continues. “He will turn down this invitation.”

The adult nods. “I know.” He glances at Neal. “I was not planning to give him one.”

“…Oh.” That makes more sense.

“What about you? Were you planning to tell Keller about meeting Elle?”

Neal smiles. “Never!”

“So he does not know?”

Neal shakes his head.

“What about Satchmo? Has he ever seen him?”

“No,” Neal chuckles. Is it just him, or have Mister Morris’s shoulders relaxed an inch? “Are you going to tell him?”

The adult shakes his head. “No.” Their eyes meet. “I don’t like to mix work with my personal life.”

Neal’s heart drops a bit. Does it mean…?

“I can’t come tomorrow either?” he asks quietly.

The adult’s hands clench on the steering wheel. “Tomorrow, huh?”

Neal wraps his arms around his stomach, tightly. He closes his eyes, searching for the words that Mister Morris would want to hear. He seemed to be relieved when Neal told him that his mentor did not know about Satch. “I won’t tell Mister Keller about anything. Even if you tell me I can’t come tomorrow.”

The brief glance Mister Morris gives him is unreadable.

Neal manages a small smile. “Elle doesn’t know much about your job, does she?”

“No… She doesn’t.”

Neal grins. “She has no idea how lucky she is to have you, then,” he says cheerfully to the adult. Since Mister Morris does not answer, Neal looks away and rests his head against a bolster. “Still, in my opinion, it’s good to know a quality forger. Especially one you can trust. Don’t you think?”

He closes his eyes before seeing Mister Morris nod or shake his head. This way he can come tomorrow, whether Mister Morris wishes it or not. But it will be okay because he will not come empty-handed.

Stifling a yawn, Neal wraps his arms around his knees. Mister Morris will like him yet.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Pulling on the breaks, Peter brought the car to a stop. They arrived. The meeting point was only twenty minute walk from there. He glanced right.

The child did not move. He was curled in an embryo position and his eyes were closed. His breaths were regular. Peter had previously suspected the boy might have fallen asleep just at the beginning of their ride. There was no longer any doubt.

Neal was asleep.

Closing his eyes, Peter rested his arms against the steering wheel.

What the heck was he doing?

He felt like a kidnapper, not an agent.

He felt like an abuser.

He was the abuser.

No, that was it. He had made a wrong decision and he had to fix it. So what if everyone at the Bureau expected him to bring in Keller and Neumann? So what? Weren’t there any other ways to catch the criminals? Why was everyone okay with taking advantage of a child like that?

If he decided to proceed… There was no way Elle would forgive him. Just no way. He had to go back. He just had to.

_SWAT teams report readiness, boss. Our reaction time will be ten minutes_ , he heard the communicate in his earpiece.

“Copy that,” Peter mumbled, still not opening his eyes. It was supposed to be a simple operation. One hour, no longer.

What did it matter whether he arrested the boy now or later? He was still going to arrest him.

But the charges would be less severe. 

And so would Neumann’s and Keller’s. They would get away. But would they?

Once again he remembered the reassuring way Elle spoke to the child, the kindness in her words and gestures. Neal was really just a little boy. The way Elle looked at the kid was the only way anyone should ever look at any child.

Peter knew the man he wished to be. He wished to be someone to whom Neal would really be just a _child_ , never an _asset_. He wanted to protect Neal, not take advantage of him.

This situation, all of it, felt wrong.

“HEY!” the roar violently brought him back to the present. He looked to his left and nearly cringed when he saw a gun pointed at him. “Don’t you fucking move, Morris!” the criminal, whom Peter identified as Miller, warned him.

“Mil!” a childish voice exclaimed. So Neal woke up. Peter watched Miller walk around the car to get to the passenger side. His gun was still pointed at him.

The door on the kid’s side opened. “Get out,” Miller Murphy said, tugging the child by the arm. His gun was still pointed at Peter. “No. Fucking. Move.”

“Wait, the seatbelts—” Neal unbuckled and got out. Rubbing his eyes, he stood next to Miller. Then his eyes widened as if the child had only now realized the situation Peter was in. “Hey! Cool it down, man!”

Miller ignored that remark. His cold gaze remained on Peter. “I warned you about what happens to those who do not stay away from the kid.”

“No, Mil, wait, you don’t understand—” Neal’s voice turned frantic, the last signs of sleepiness fading from his pale face. “We met by accident. I was walking down South Street, Mister Morris’s car stopped at a red-light, I saw him and he noticed me. I would be late if he had not picked me up!”

That… That was some quick thinking, Peter reflected, still face to face with Miller’s gun.

He watched the criminal furrow his forehead. “That true?” he asked.

Peter nodded, slowly. He had to get into his role. What was his role?

“And now get that thing out of my face,” Peter sneered. “I swear, you’re the most incompetent bunch I have ever dealt with.”

Ignoring Miller’s gun, he got out of the car. Out of a corner of his eye, he saw Neal yawn, then stretch his arms. “It’s a nice night,” the boy said, more calmly.

Miller’s gun was still pointed at Peter.

“Relax!” the child clapped the man’s back.

Miller stiffened and then shook his head. “You were unconscious, G.”

“I was sleeping!”

Peter sighed, reaching for a cigarette. He lit it, then turned on his heel. “Let’s get going, shall we? We’ve got work to do.” The blood was pulsing in his ears.

“We do, don’t we?” Neal nodded happily, walking over to Peter’s side. “I bet a hundy that Travis’s going to be late.”

“…So you just lost your money, kid. They both are already waiting for us.” Miller’s tone was dry. When Peter glanced to his right, he saw the man had already pocketed the gun.

“Oh,” the little boy grimaced and took out a hundred dollars from his jacket pocket. “I underestimated your persuasion skills.”

“Oh, yeah, you did.” Miller chuckled, taking the money from the child. He clapped Neal’s back. “He won’t be giving you any more trouble, kid.” His eyes met Peter’s coldly. “You have my word for it.”

“Cool!” Neal said laconically, joyfully running a bit ahead of them.

Peter stayed silent, and after a moment Miller looked away. He lit a cigarette and then took a puff. He did not say anything more.

_Are you okay?_ Hearing Diana’s voice in his ear, Peter clenched his teeth.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said.

Miller nodded. “Let’s.”

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Upon seeing Mister Keller, Neal stops mid-run. He watches the adult drop a cig and stomp it with his feet.

But Travis is nowhere to be seen. The adult must be waiting in their get-away car.

“Matthew,” Mister Morris’s voice comes from behind him.

“Peter,” Mister Keller nods. “Mil.” He raises his eyebrow at Neal. “Well, Georgie? Ready?”

With a smile on his face, Neal puts on the anti-dust mask. “Yeah!” he says.

“You have thirty minutes tops,” his mentor steps closer to squeeze his shoulder. “Can do?”

Neal nods.

“Break a leg,” he hears Mil snort.

Throwing one final glance at the three adults, Neal turns on his heel. The back entrance to Mister Neumann’s mansion is just around the corner.

* * *

Next (28.02): **The Heist**


	15. The Heist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) I hope everyone is doing well. Thank you so much for your encouraging comments and kudos. I'm very grateful that I can share this journey with you. ❤
> 
> I'm planning to post the next chapter in two weeks (Sunday 14.03).
> 
> The illustration:<https://www.doodleaddicts.com/uploads/43584/city-at-night/>

_"My days are swifter than a runner,  
they flee away; they see no happiness;  
They shoot by like skiffs of reed,  
like an eagle swooping upon its prey.”  
Job 9:25-26 (NABRE)_

After removing the grate, Neal takes a peek inside. A repulsive amount of dust is waiting for him. He can also see the sharp edges of the sheet metal.

He zips his jacket up to his neck and puts on thick leather gloves. Then he hauls up into the duct.

Basically, there are four things to keep in mind when trying to crawl through the vent.

**First:** _the noise._

The echo from the vent system travels anywhere the vent has access to - it is fairly easy to make a racket here. It took Neal weeks of practice to understand that the only way to go was to be slow and patient.

**Second:** every vent has an _end_. Or rather _ends_. Plural.

It probably does not even take him three minutes before he encounters the first wire screen.

Wire screens are designed to keep away small animals such as raccoons, usually with the right tools at hand, it is fairly easy to get through them. Unfortunately, it also takes time.

Neal spends the next five minutes cutting a hole wide enough for him to slip through. While doing this, he tears up his jacket sleeve. Duct tape comes very handy in such situations. He immediately fixes the torn material with it.

Then he takes a flashlight out of his pocket. Its bulb is dimmed – just in case someone is watching. Looking ahead, Neal sees the ducting bend. Nothing unusual.

Because **third:** it is certain that the ducting _will bend_ or _narrow_ at some point. Whether you notice it in time to stop and not fall to death is… Entirely up to you.

And finally **fourth** : most vents are not designed to carry the weight of a person.

If you do not want to see the sheet metal sections separate, you just need to work hard on spreading your weight out. Growing up, Neal found that particular task more and more challenging. The heavier he got, the more work it took for him to crawl through the vents.

Like right now for example. If it had been two years ago, he would have gotten up without hesitation. But two years ago, being a head shorter, he also weighed less. Such as things are now, he will just have to try to put some of his weight on the sides of the ducting.

After some adjustments in his position, he finally succeeds. He leans his back against one wall while pressing his knees and elbows against the opposite one. Now it is time to go up.

According to Mister Keller’s plans of the mansion, the security room is located on the second floor. This means he will have to crawl about thirty feet along this vertical way.

Once he reaches the second floor, Neal can finally breathe a sigh of relief. Shivering slightly with the physical exertion, he rests his forehead against the cool metal. There is nothing more he wishes right now than a breath of fresh air.

Unfortunately, he knows that if he tried to take off the anti-dust mask now, the only outcome would be a terrible cough. The LCD display on his watch blinks, it is 0:19:20 AM. This means there are still ten minutes left to the deadline set by Mister Keller. Continuing to crawl, this time horizontally not vertically, Neal grins.

In his opinion, so far the plan is going pretty well.

The sound of muffled voices makes him come to an abrupt stop. He immediately turns off his flashlight. Trying to hear the conversation, he pushes his ear closer to the grate.

“…to move in only _after_ my signal. Understand?” Someone says and Neal frowns.

Move in? What is going on?

He tries to see the people in the corridor, but it is almost as dark there as it is in here, in the duct.

“Yeah,” sounds the answer and Neal realizes there is only one person down there. He is just talking on the radio.

“Good. Carry on, Kyler.” The digitized voice says, and Neal frowns. The stranger, identified as _Kyler_ , passes underneath him. For a long moment after the adult has left, Neal can only stare blankly down the dark corridor beneath him. Despite the sweat, a cold shiver passes through him.

Something is not right.

He fishes out his phone to text Mister Keller when he realizes… No. If he does not want his mentor to get angry with him, he cannot do it just yet. He has to get into the security room first.

He starts crawling again.

Within the next eight minutes he finds it.

As always, he is relieved when he can finally leave the small space behind and stand tall. He looks at his wristwatch. Seconds to 00:30 AM.

He takes off the anti-dust mask and takes a few deep breaths. His heart pounds in his chest. Trying to get rid of the sweat, he runs a hand over his face. Then he fishes out his phone and starts typing.

_[Me:…to move in only after my signal; Yeah; Good. Carry on, Kyler]_

After sending the message, he pockets the phone and strongly decides to forget about the whole ordeal. He knows he would not be able to call anything off even if he wanted to, so… What does it matter what he thinks anyway?

After taking off the thick gloves, but still leaving the thin ones on, Neal first carefully looks around the small room.

On his right there is a guard post. All five monitors are turned off. On his left…

Neal smiles broadly, then still with a smile, he crosses the way to the fusion box. Standing up on tip toe, he reaches for it and opens it. He is greeted by a tangle of cables.

“Let the show begin,” he whispers cheerfully under his breath as he fishes a screw and a cutter out of his pocket.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Casually, Peter looked at his wristwatch.

It was 00:34 AM.

That made the boy four minutes behind the schedule.

He glanced straight at where Keller was standing. The man’s face was unreadable. Peter would have given anything to know what exactly was in that text message the criminal got about four minutes ago.

Whatever it said made the man furrow his forehead and pace in place for a moment before texting back.

Peter, for the sake of the team listening to them, decided to ask if anything was wrong. Keller just said _No_. And that was all. Miller, even though he could clearly hear the exchange, did not even bother to look up from the crossword he was filling out. The subject was closed.

Peter was just about to check the hour again, when the clear communicate through the radio interrupted his train of thought.

“Your move!” The childish voice announced and Keller smiled.

“Copy that… Carry on with the plan, kid,” the crook said, stomping a cigarette with his foot. Then he turned to face Peter and Miller. “Gentlemen?” he inquired, cocking his eyebrow at them and Peter felt a sudden nausea in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, he realized that after Neal made it outside, he still was not going to be in the clear. Waiting for him would be Travis who attempted to end his life at least once already.

Silently, Peter followed the criminals.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

“Carry on with the plan, kid,” Mister Keller orders, and Neal sighs. The text message his mentor had sent him two minutes earlier said almost the same thing, only shorter: _Carry on_.

He really hoped to hear something different. But Mister Keller knows what he is doing, right? He has to know. He is the smartest adult Neal knows, after all.

Neal pockets his phone.

He opens the door and peers into the corridor.

Thankfully, as far as he can see, it is empty.

For now. He knows there are adults out there. Waiting for someone’s go-ahead signal.

Neal quietly closes the door behind him. In order to get to Mister Neumann’s office, he must first find the appropriate grate.

Trying not to think too much, as silent as a cat, Neal runs.

Following Mister Keller’s schematics he has learnt by heart, he slinks past several rooms before finally finding the grate he wants. He kneels next to it, then using his knife and screwdriver, he pries it open.

Almost there, he thinks as he slides into the vent. Almost there.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

It felt barbaric to cut the canvas in that way. Knowing it was a forgery did not help much. Whoever painted it had talent. On the other hand, whoever painted it probably should not have painted it in the first place. Or rather, agreed to sell it as a _real_ piece. But regardless of the painting's origin, Peter was fairly certain he could predict its future.

First an analysis in the FBI lab, then a brief spell of fame when shown to the jury, only to end up being classified as evidence, sealed and sent to the evidence warehouse for long-term storage. It might be dusted off in a couple of years, when it's time to review the evidence.

_“Besides yours, we sensed the second radio traffic boss. It’s encrypted,”_ Diana’s warning in his earpiece interrupted his thoughts. She did not add anything else, so there was little he could do about it right then. The team was probably trying to listen in to that traffic.

After rolling the last canvas, Peter turned to Miller and saw he was done as well. After nodding to each other, they both turned to head for the room where Keller had been working.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

As the loosened grate slips from his hands, Neal cringes inside. He waits for the loud noise… But nothing like that happens. Thankfully, the grate hits the soft carpet instead of the hard floor. Neal breathes a sigh of relief, then, after crawling out of the duct, he takes out his flashlight to have a good look around.

Relatively speaking, the office is not spacious. Its walls are half way down covered with wooden panels. Looks like oak. There is a painting in a golden frame that catches his attention for a moment. He wants to come closer, but then, remembering he is not on a sightseeing tour here, he keeps looking around. And this is when he sees it.

The big, case-hardened steel safe.

It must be where the music box is locked.

Nodding to himself, Neal walks over to it, then stops maybe two feet away. On his right there is a wooden table and on top of it…

A familiar looking sculpture.

It really completes the space, Neal thinks, admiring one of his finest works. Vulcan definitely looks like he made a home in here. Looking at it, Neal thinks for a moment of that first plan Mister Keller prepared for their break-in. It seems that was so long ago. So many things have happened since then. The plans have changed.

“At least one of us will survive it,” he tells the sculpture as he passes by. “Lucky bastard.” His smile is fleeting.

After all, he was initially supposed to break into this office in a couple of days from now, during Mister Neumann’s party. In that plan, the sculpture made by Neal would have played a major role. Not the Vulcan himself, but rather the drill-driver hidden inside the sculpture. Since there are no metal-detector gates for him to pass through, Neal could bring his own drill-driver. And so he did.

He stops in front of the safe and, after finding all his break-in necessities, drops the backpack to the floor. To see the safe clearly, he adjusts the flashlight’s position. He is relieved to see there is no surprise waiting for him there. It is indeed a _1943 mckinzie_. Just like Mister Keller said it would be. Neal wishes himself good luck.

He turns on the drill driver. After drilling the hole, Neal inserts a borescope inside. It is time for the tricky part. After the scope is in the position, Neal starts to rotate the dial.

He looks for the landmarks on the combination lock’s wheel pack and after five minutes he finds them all. He selects the combination and takes out the scope.

He takes a deep breath. This is the moment of truth.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

They found Keller in the other room. It looked like he had just finished his part of the job disabling the motion detectors and heat sensors.

“All done?” the criminal asked, looking up at them from his work.

Miller nodded and Keller got up.

They helped him fit the two pieces, spared from the knife-treatment, into the case.

When they finished, Keller grunted in satisfaction. “Good job.” The criminal clapped Peter’s shoulder, then nodded to Miller. “Carry on with the plan, I’ll follow shortly.”

Wait. What?

“G’s in trouble?” Miller immediately asked and Keller snorted.

“He should be waiting for you outside,” he said, then making no further comment, turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Peter thinned his lips. That was not part of the plan.

That was the last-moment alteration that was not beneficial to Keller taking into account the tension between him and Neumann. The job was supposed to regain some of that lost trust, not completely destroy it.

In his mind he weighed his options.

He figured the sooner he and Miller got out, the quicker the SWAT team could move in. Turning away from the door, Peter met Miller’s eyes. He nodded at him, then bent to pick up the case. Together, they headed back. Then, suddenly, Diana’s voice sounded in his earpiece.

_“Boss, it might be nothing, but we lost sight of Neumann,”_ she said. _“We don’t think he is in the suburbs anymore.”_

Peter quickened his pace.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal, with his heart pounding, pulls the handles of the safe. It opens without any difficulty. The combination has been correct and inside… Inside Neal can see it for the first time. Mister Keller’s obsession, his white whale, their highest score.

_The Music Box._

When Neal takes it in his hands, it is heavy. Definitely the baroque era. The light reflects off its amber surface. The golden cherubs meet Neal’s eyes. Who knows how long has Mister Neumann kept them locked in the dark. But now…

At last they are free.

Smiling widely, Neal gently wraps the bubble wrap around the music box. Then he puts the treasure inside his backpack. It turns out to be the perfect fit.

He will have to leave the duct tape, the drill and the scope behind.

Neal kicks the tools under the table and rolls his shoulders.

He guesses it is a good thing Mister Keller has not demanded he steal anything more than just this beautiful music box.

After waving good-bye to the Vulcan, he turns on his heel and goes back to the duct opening.

It is about time for him to find his mentor and get the hell out of here.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Peter and Miller ran outside. The street was empty. Travis’s car was parked where they had left it.

Seeing them, the criminal clicked the trunk open. Peter was about to approach the back of the car with the stolen pieces when he realized he could not see Neal anywhere.

He dropped the packages and turned to Travis to demand an explanation. Miller was quicker.

“I’m going to kill him,” he heard the criminal grit out.

A heartbeat later, the man dragged Travis out of the car by his collar.

“Where the hell is G?” he hissed in a low voice.

“How should I know!” Travis growled, trying in vain to shake off Miller. He still looked the worse for wear after the beating he received from his pals the day before. “Where the heck is Keller?” the criminal asked after a moment.

Wishing he knew the answer to that question, Peter closed the trunk.

“You mean he never came out?” Miller asked, finally letting the other go.

“Keller? Of course he―”

“The kid, you imbecile!” Miller snarled, baring his teeth. Peter’s hand rested on his gun.

“The brat again? How the hell should I know where that rat―”In the blink of an eye, Miller aimed his gun at his associate’s head. Travis broke off, looking incredulous.

Peter watched as the two criminals glared at each other in strained silence.

Suddenly Travis snorted. “What Mil, you’re going to kill me now? Because of some brat?”

“Try me.”

Peter took a step closer. “Miller,” he said evenly. “Let’s keep calm.”

The man glanced at him sidelong. “You’re on his side?”

Peter shook his head. “No,” he said, locking his eyes with the man. “Come on. Pocket that gun. There is no need for it.” Miller did not answer, and Peter forced himself to look even more relaxed.

He turned away from the two men and opened the car door.

“Just text George and wait for Keller,” he said calmly. “I’m sure there is an explanation.”

It was only when Peter slipped into the car that the criminal obeyed.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Miller lower his gun and reach for his phone.

“If the kid does not respond in the next five minutes, you’ll regret it,” he grumbled.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Checking the time on his wristwatch once again, Neal feels in his stomach something spinning uncomfortably. Four minutes… Mister Keller is four minutes late already. Another minute and he will have to proceed without his mentor.

_Come on…_ Neal grits his teeth. When a text message comes in, he has great hope, but then recognizes the number belongs to Mil.

_[Unknown number: You alive?]_

Reading the message over and over again, Neal bites his lip. Just great. The rest of the crew has already started to take notice of his absence. He thinks about the answer for a moment, then decides on the easiest one. It is not like it is his first time to make his own getaway after a heist. Miller usually has been forgiving.

_[Me: Yeah. But don’t wait up.]_

He sends the message and then, with a heavy sigh, pockets his phone.

He cannot wait for Mister Keller any longer.

It is time to go.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Hearing Miller’s curse, both Peter and Travis looked up.

“What?” Peter asked.

“I’m gonna kick his ass,” the man gritted out, and Travis, almost right on cue, laughed.

“Let me guess, Irish goodbye?” He asked and Miller glared at him. Travis turned to Peter. “See? That’s why you should never trust kids. If you think it’s the first time you’ve been wrong. The kid’s been ditching Keller as long as I can remember.”

Peter clenched his jaw. “Where is he going to meet us?” he asked.

Miller narrowed his eyes. “Why the hell do you want to meet him?”

Peter found himself at a loss on how to answer. Technically, with the security system disabled, George should not really matter to Keller’s employer anymore. All five paintings that Neumann wanted them to steal were in the trunk of the car. It should not matter…

Peter’s phone buzzed. There were two messages.

_[Douglas Neumann: Do not wait for K. Tell them to move.]_

_[Matthew Keller: Move.]_

“What is―” Miller started to ask, only to pause in mid-sentence. Looking over his shoulder, Peter could see exactly the same text message from Keller he had just received. “Keller says to move,” the criminal announced.

“Then let’s go,” was the only thing that was left for Peter to say.

_Let’s go_ was the signal for his team to step in and arrest all three of them.

As he waited for his team’s ambush, Peter clenched his fists. He really hoped that Keller’s change of plans had nothing to do with Neal’s disappearance.

/\\_/\  
='x'=

Neal is on the rooftop of a building across the street from Mister Neumann’s mansion when he hears the first police siren.

“What the…” creeping to the edge of the roof, he glances down and… “Wow,” he whispers. Beneath him, he can see a cavalry of cop cars.

With horror and disbelief, he immediately withdraws from the edge. He takes a running start and lands in a roll on the rooftop of the next building. They will not catch him.

It is only when Neal is a considerable distance away from the mansion that he is finally struck by the full significance of the cops’ presence. Someone must have betrayed them. Someone must have sold them out!

“Travis,” Neal spits in disgust, and the name is like a curse on his tongue.

Oh, he has warned Mister Keller it’s going to end this way if he keeps Travis around. But has his mentor listened? No! He never does that!

* * *

Next(14.03): **In Great Distress**


End file.
